Warriors High: Island of the Lost
by ResX
Summary: After Scourge's attack on Forrestlake, a resilient family of seven come from Lindisfarne looking for asylum. Little did the Three, Rock or anyone on the island know that what would follow is a new enemy watching from the shadows, ready to strike when they stood alone. [Companion to Warriors: The New Era] [Features Original Characters from The Holy Island]
1. AN:THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO TURN BACK

**Before we begin.**

**THIS STORY IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART.**

**This story contains investigations into topics some consider sensitive and offensive, including violence, blood, gore, rape, posttraumatic stress, suicide and sex. Most of this will be censored and kept vague since this is a T-rated story, but if these rub you the wrong way, consider ignoring this story and moving on.**

**Trigger warning will be provided in front of every chapter with sensitive content, as well as the chapter name. If you see a chapter with the "(TW)" label, that means the chapter contains a trigger warning.**

**This story will remain rated T until the website administration comes a-knocking with torches and pitchforks or I just don't feel comfortable enough ****with it.**

**This is your last chance to turn back.**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Still here?**

**Cool.**

**Well, prepare for a ride unlike any other Warriors High you've ever read.**

**Enjoy.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	2. They Came From The Sky

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**THEY CAME FROM THE SKY**

* * *

Usually, Civics was really boring mumbo jumbo about laws and the American justice system.

But this was the day before winter break. No teacher in the building could afford to lead a boring class and leave with their heads on their necks.

Dustleap sat slouched in his desk, legs up and crossed as he watched a live broadcast of Judge Judy, which his teacher, Deerripple, had used a VPN to sneak in live coverage of NBC from the US. A nice discovery, especially for a class that paid more attention to verbal throwdowns more that classwork.

By God, they really were freshmen.

Dustleap wasn't really focused on the stream, though. Hell, he wasn't really focused on anything. Even when Civics began four months earlier, he had been trying to tune out the obvious political segregation between his classmates (The day about the French Revolution was so chaotic that the teacher was almost fired for the fights it caused). Radicals on the left, conservatives on the right, and everyone else in the back. No one sat in the front. That was almost like a universal unwritten rule.

The boy just slouched back in his seat, his hand slipping into his pocket and grabbing his phone as he glanced at the teacher, confirming that she was deep into a conversation with someone who was probably her boyfriend, considering how she had a bit of a dopey smile as she listened to the voice on the other end.

Using his legs for cover, Dustleap opened Piano Tiles on his phone and tried to pathetically beat his high score, which was north of 10,000, with his right thumb. He did make some admirable progress, breaking 1,500 with a free revive before slipping up a tap. He glanced up at his deskmate, who was usually sneaking glances at his phone and giving his approval when he played this game, but his worried gaze was on Deerripple instead.

The teacher's face had suddenly changed, now inheriting more and more fear as she listened to the other end more and more. "What's going on?" and "Is everything alright?" she said over and over.

The class exploded into mocking laughter when the defendant horrendously skewered the word "losers," sealing her fate to lose a couple thousand dollars, when Deerripple's face went white as she dropped her phone. Suddenly everyone turned away from Judge Judy telling the mother that her "daughter is a problem" and stared at their teacher, who looked close to fainting.

She reached for the remote to shut off the projector when the fire alarm went off.

The class cheered at the sudden pandemonium, everyone completely believing it was a prank. There hadn't been a fire at the school ever since the place opened, so it was either a drill, in which they would have been notified about, or a big, loud, obnoxious send-off into the holidays.

The class flooded into the already crowded halls, the teachers from various rooms trying desperately to restore order. Dustleap hustled and pushed his way to the entrance, in case there actually was a fire. The one thing Dusty hated the most was fire.

He threw open the double doors, being followed closely by the first signs of an outpour of the amoebic mass of students, spilling out onto the lawn. Feeling his anxiety simmer down, he began looking around for some of his classmates.

"This has got to be a prank, right?" said Dustleap, running up to his friend, Sandysnout, who nodded. "Gotta be. Jersey Shore was out of class for twenty minutes when the alarm went off. Definitely seemed like something he would do, especially today."

"Boy, I'm boutta give him the biggest up-high that he's ever gotten this year."

"But be sure the get on him for being cliche. Still doesn't beat Flight 2000."

"Not even close."

Blackwhisker, affectionately known as Jersey Shore, was a six-foot-two genius and one of the most popular kids in the freshman class. While he was originally known for leading the school's once-meager basketball team to the island championship, he soon induced infamy upon his name by pulling the biggest prank the island had ever seen. The "Flight 2000" prank was when he altered all of the tickets, originally set for the coast of New Jersey, on a week-long field trip and sent himself and ninety students, including Dustleap, to a kick-ass week in Los Angeles. No one knows how he did it, but since he was one of the kids who got the upgrade, he wasn't asking.

That's how Jersey Shore was making his name, pulling pranks and making sure everyone in the grade was having a good time.

"Hey, Jersey!" called Dustleap to the tall mastermind, who was holding hands with his girlfriend, "We're getting worried! You losing your creative spirit?"

"What you talking about?" he said, shaking his hand, "I thought that was one of you wannabes! You ain't tryna steal my thunder, are ya?"

"Nah, man. Never. So who is this mysterious heir to the throne?"

"Beats me. Now everyone's concerned about the fire downtown."

Dustleap's eyes widened in alarm. "What fire?"

"Bro, chill. It's ten miles away. The school ain't gonna burn down."

The boy turned to the skyline, where he saw a thick pillar of charcoal-colored smoke permeating sleek gray palette of the city. He could hear worried murmurs from the students around him. Most of the island's population worked in the city, and downtown was the most populated area.

"Jesus," said Dustleap, suppressing a shiver as students pulled out their phones to call their parents.

"LOOK!" said a student pointing to the west side, "THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

Dustleap saw a second thick pillar of smoke rising from one of the high-rises. The distant wails of emergency vehicles slowly began to fill the silence in the background.

Paranoia crept in the boy's bones. Now he was concerned that this wasn't a drill after all.

"Hey!" he said, running up to Sandysnout milling in the middle of the throng, "Do you have any idea who did pull the alarm?"

"No," he said, his concern about the city growing all the more prevalent.

"OW FUCK!" shouted a student behind him, gripping the back of his head, "WHO THREW THAT?"

Dustleap chuckled in sympathy, then looked to the ground to see a sleek, green sphere with a latch embedded on the top.

The world seemed to freeze.

"GRENADE!" he screamed, grabbing Sandysnout by the arm and yanking him away.

As screams of confusion and terror filled the air, there was a concussive explosion behind him, thrusting him into the air and causing him to land head-first onto the pavement.

Intense agony filled his nerves and his ears rang with cacophony.

Faintly he could hear screams, pleas for mercy, abruptly silenced by gunfire.

Dustleap dared to open his eyes when he felt Sandysnout, in tears and wailing, trying to help him up.

But his efforts were cut short when a bullet suddenly pierced his skull and he slumped to the ground, dropping the boy unceremoniously back into the puddle of his own blood.

His vision blurred, but he could make out a figure in all black holding an automatic assault rifle walking calmly towards him.

He stopped in front of him, let out a cold chuckle and stomped hard on the boy's head.

Mercifully, one stomp ripped his grip away from consciousness and he blacked out for what everyone in the world would expect to be the final time.

* * *

On December 22, 2023, the U.S. territory of Lindisfarne was attacked by a terrorist group identified as the Assassins of the Rising Sun, or ARS.

There were seven recorded bombings, four on the main city, Excelsio's, downtown and Main Street areas, two on the residential districts of CoastClan and MudClan and one on Lindisfarne High, followed by a black-masked battalion of great numbers freely opening fire on unarmed civilians, predicted to be on orders to kill on sight.

In a 2022 census, the population of Lindisfarne was totaled to be 16,722.

On December 22, the amount of deaths was recorded at around 1,770, 210 of the victims being attendees of Lindisfarne High.

On December 30, the final death toll was 2,306, making the attack on Lindisfarne the second deadliest terrorist attack in American history.

The world acted appropriately. Several neighboring countries were placed on high alert and the President swore revenge, promising to send military aid to assist the hunt for the black-masked soldiers.

But no one expected them to attack again. At least, not this soon.

On January 1, 2023, a memorial was hastily constructed on a sister island, and a mass funeral was hosted. 4,000 people were in attendance, 3,000 of them registered residents of Lindisfarne,

On the same day, in the middle of the ceremony, ARS bombed the sister island.

There were no survivors.

It was then that the President realized that this was a situation that he could not control alone. He had not the resources nor the money to put into fighting this kind of terrorist group with tensions between the United States and the Middle East escalated to a breaking point.

So America did what America does best.

They ran.

On January 9, In a 52% vote by a bare majority-Republican House and a near-unanimous vote by a majority-red Senate, the President passed a statement surrendering control of Lindisfarne, granting the island it's independence.

It was this move of infamy and cowardice that led to the president not being elected to a second term in ten months.

But the damage was done. Lindisfarne was now an island protected by no one but their own feeble defenses.

Lindisfarne. The island which was abandoned in it's most desperate time of peril.

Lindisfarne. The Island of the Lost.

* * *

**I know, I know, I know, I know, I know.**

**bUt ReS wArrIoRS HigH hAS bEEN dOne fOR 10 YEars!1!1!111!**

**I know.**

**But as you can see, this is very different. Much darker than your conventional Warriors High since I started with a school shooting and mass genocide.**

**In other words, a day in the life of my writing.**

**But here's how this is going to go differently.**

**1\. This story will center around the OC's of the Holy Island, primarily my own and Jayfeather's Friend.**

**2\. Speaking of Jay, portions of this story will take place in his universe, meaning that the canon Warriors characters will play a significant part in this story. The storyline is my own, but specific areas and certain characters' personas came from his own wild imagination. Feel free to read his own Warriors High. It's a good read. (not sponsored i swear)**

**3\. I plan for this story to get dark. Not enough to lose the T rating, but enough for me to put trigger warnings in front of some of the chapters. Keep an eye out for those.**

**4\. If you haven't guessed, this story will be very loosely based on the actual high school itself. No one comes for the high school drama, anyway.**

**So here we go. My biggest project yet I have enough investment in to continue.**

**Jay, this one's for you.**

**Enjoy.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	3. Line Of Fire

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**LINE OF FIRE**

* * *

At exactly 5:45 AM, a lithe woman with dirty blonde hair raised a Bluetooth speaker into the air.

The sound of the bugle seemed to slice through the serene air as the tents near the forest rustled immediately. Suddenly, the once quiet camp was bustling with hustling activity. Men and women and teens of ages fifteen to thirty woke up with varying levels of contentment in the early morning, doing hurried basic steps of hygiene and scuffling over to the woman with the speaker, who clipped it on her belt which tucked in a vest with a large imprint of a daffodil on the right side of the chest.

By 5:52, twenty-one persons, soldiers by the look of their uniforms, stood at varying levels of attention in front of the woman, whose metal star hat embellishment shone in the morning sun.

"Stand at attention!" she ordered.

All twenty-one soldiers stamped their left foot simultaneously. "ATTENTION!"

She smirked confidently. "Good morning, resisters."

Per usual, she gave out the ultimatum for the day, including drills, training and various housekeeping chores. The soldiers took orders without question, but it wasn't hard to detect an inward groan from the teenage soldiers when they were assigned the odd jobs, especially by a twenty-two year old.

When they were dismissed to officially begin the long day, the woman quickly made her way to a wooden shack, flinging open the rusty-hinged screen door and rushing down the stairs. She arrived at a sleek, white control room with six monitors propped and processing data over and over again.

After clearing her throat, the boy at the helm of the computer stood up immediately, saluting to acknowledge her presence.

"Good morning, Daffodil."

"Glad to see you're up and running, Jaywhisker," said Daffodil, motioning for him to be at ease and leaning over the master computer next to him, "Status report."

"The probes we planted yesterday have been pretty effective so far," he said, pulling up what looked to be surveillance footage on each of the six monitors, "We've been able to track the times when ARS soldiers have been in motion, but there hasn't been a significant pattern in their movements. They don't know that the probes are planted, but there hasn't been any useful use for them yet."

Daffodil raised an eyebrow. "You do remember this was _your_ grand plan, right?"

"I know," said Jaywhisker, rolling his eyes, "but stay with me here. You can't expect these things to work right away on day one, just like we can't always assume ARS is completely flawless in their movements. They'll mess up at some point, and according to fiction-story logic, at the time either we or they least expect them to."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been reading too many novels, haven't you?"

"Hey," he said, nudging her in a friendly manner, "Eventually I run out of things to do when my job is to literally wait in a dark room."

"What happened to your tinkering phase?"

"I'm low on plausible ideas," he said nonchalantly, "Sometimes, novels have good sparks of inspiration behind them. I'm just spending my free time looking for those."

"Sure, sure," said Daffodil, "I'll leave you to your bookworming, then."

She was just about to leave when she remembered something very important, so important that she scolded herself for almost forgetting.

"Jay?" she asked, "Is the radio running at full capacity?"

"Per your orders, ma'am," said Jaywhisker, rolling his chair over to a telephone that looked right out of the fifties wired heavily up to a large industrial radio.

Daffodil took a seat, adjusting the chair to her liking, before turning the radio on, adjusting the knob so the frequency indicator rested just after 104, and listened.

"BASECAMP to BLACKSTORM, come in, BLACKSTORM, please respond."

Static. She expected this, but couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment and worry as she listened in harder this time.

"BASECAMP to BLACKSTORM, come in, BLACKSTORM."

She was met with static once again, but just when she was about to sign off, she heard a small tapping. Her body straightened and her face lit up immediately.

She waited until the tapping ceased, realizing she had missed the message, and said "BLACKSTORM, we hear you. Please repeat."

She listened carefully, quickly grabbing for the laminated morse code cheat sheet Jay kept on his desk at all times.

"STAT G; SIGHT N; GUN1 Y; GUN2 N; GUN3 Y; GUN4 T; BASE TODAY"

Even though the man at the other end could tap his talkie fast, it still was a loaded message and it took Daffodil a moment to process it. STAT G meant he was still alive, well and maintaining undercover status, SIGHT N meant he had not seen or found any ARS soldiers or resources, the GUN messages meant that he was making progress on his gun testing. He had been sent out on a mission to test newly developed sniper modules and their range, accuracy and quality. That portain meant Models 1 and 3 passed, Model 2 was faulty and he was testing Model 4 today.

And then the last part, the part that brought Daffodil to an unbreakable mood high.

BASE TODAY meant he was coming back to camp today.

That made up for the entire week that he had been gone.

"Good," she said into the radio.

She paused a moment, glancing over at Jaywhisker, who was slaving over his keyboard furiously.

"I love you, Ash," she whispered into the radio.

After a brief silence, she got one more message back.

"LUV YOU 2"

* * *

Yes, the fact that the sniper could be deconstructed into seven pieces and could be worn somewhat inconspicuously on a utility belt was cool, but it was a _pain in the ass_ to assemble. Especially discretely and from the top of a tree.

Ashtooth sat on the top branch of a tree, struggling to lock in the suppressor. It wasn't that the sniper had a useless design, as being able to theoretically carry a disambiguous sniper in plain sight was extremely helpful in some cases of espionage, but it had to be constructed meticulously, or else a whole world of possibilities of what could possibly go wrong could blow up in his face.

He couldn't let that happen. Any attacks against ARS had to be perfect. Any mistakes and they would define the term 'dead before the war began.'

After almost twenty seconds of fiddling, he finally managed to lock the long barrel in place, locked the scope, and finally got into position. Despite the forty-five seconds it took him to assemble the gun, he couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement as he aimed it for the first time.

After loosening it up in the prop for a moment, he detached the original scope and locked in a heat-sig scope, a special device where the scope fired infra-red lasers to, for right now, calculate the distance from the target. That was all he was told about the scope for now.

Now came the hardest part. Waiting for birds.

There were a lot of concerns about the distinct absence of avian life ever since ARS invaded the island. It had certainly set off a five-alarm fire for the British WIldlife Center, who had slowly begun to catch the anomaly, but for now, it was just an irritation that prolonged the mission six days longer than it needed to be.

God, he was so ready to go back home.

Immediately, his attention shot back to earth when he heard a cawing, seeing a flock of seagulls flying on the near shore.

The scope was fluctuating every half-second, but it seemed to level out at around 640 m. Pretty average, as he'd hit targets from 1000 m before, but for a test, this would do.

He waited for a clear window, prepped his finger on the trigger, and fired.

The blast rang in his ear and one of the seagulls exploded into a flurry of gray feathers. The flock freaked out, dispersing in several directions after their comrade was shot down.

He was just about to disengage the gun when he noticed a bird flying directly away from him.

He let his ego lead the way and looked back into the sniper scope.

The gull was flying north of him very quickly, the scope was increasing by about 5 meters every half-second.

He waited, keeping the scope trained on the bird and his finger on the trigger.

1000 meters. Usually he would fire by now, but he truly wanted to test himself now.

Two minutes slowly passed. The bird was 2,200 meters away.

It was a miracle that the bird was keeping its course so far away from the island. He didn't question it, though. He wanted to get this perfect.

Thirty seconds. 2,500 meters away. The bird was now so small on his scope that he had to zoom the scope to its maximum field of vision.

Sixty more seconds. The bird was now over 3,000 feet away.

The longest confirmed kill by a sniper was 3,500 meters. Usually, he left record shots untouched, but there was something about this gun the clearly was beckoning him to test the limits.

224 seconds after he killed the first seagull, the bird was 3,260 feet away and was starting to divert in course. Ashtooth silently cursed like a sailor and willed it to stay on target. This was truly an unusual surge of self-confidence, especially for him.

3,300 feet.

His fingers wrapped around the trigger.

3,400 feet.

He held his breath, willing himself not to think about his impeccable balance among the branches.

3,500 feet.

He fired, the bang sending a harsher jolt through his body than usual, and watched.

An agonizing second later, his jaw dropped as the gull jarred sharply off course and fell into the sea.

Ashtooth took a second to admire in his work.

He was pretty sure he just broke a world record.

Out of all the things he'd had to do when he joined the Resistance, breaking the world record for a sniper kill was something so daunting, he had to take a couple seconds to bask in his momentary, silent glory.

But he remembered that he had to get moving. So he hastily deconstructed the gun, which, what do you know, was much less of a pain in the ass than the assembly, clipped them to his new, shiny belt which he suspected he would wear for a long time and got moving, swinging like a monkey and navigating the trees until he landed on a small cottage roof in the middle of the forest. Taking a detailed look around to make sure he was not being watched, he opened up the skylight and slipped into the attic, landing with a thud on the floor to announce his appearance and closing the glass window behind him.

He suspected a welcome back when he heard hurried footsteps up the stairs, but was not prepared when the woman with the long brown hair with silver tips hustled in with a worried look on her face.

"Ash?" said the woman, who seemed to be silently freaking out, "Have you seen Dusty? Daffodil just called. He hasn't shown up to camp at all!"

Ashtooth's eyes widened.

"What!?"

* * *

A teen of about seventeen with barely darkening blond hair finally got the keycard right and unlocked the door to his personalized music studio.

Just as he had left it. Drum set in the far right, synth on the far left, compact piano on the lear right and on the left wall an acoustic guitar, electric guitar and trackpad.

So many possibilities, so much music in so little time. This is truly what he loved to see.

Dusty was called a lot of things. Ever since the bombings a year and a half ago, those who had heard about him probably thought of him as a skilled close-combat fighter with the vigilance of an eagle scout, but those who truly knew him knew he had become so much more.

He loved music. Some even called him a musical prodigy. To that he scoffed. He was sure that several other people in the world had perfect pitch and a good sense of rhythm. He just decided to do something with it.

This was his work so far. He had gotten good enough to almost play the 3rd movement of Moonlight Sonata memorized and rock out to "Enter Sandman," but he was no prodigy.

He just loved music. He did the fighting to make money to do what he loved.

He had a plan for what he would do today.

Ruffling in his jean pockets, he grabbed his AirPod Pros, which were probably knock-offs since they were light saffron instead of white, connected them to his phone and put the noise-cancelling headphones over his ears.

Taking a seat at the drum set, he pulled out his phone, opened YouTube and searched "whiplash caravan"

Whiplash was one of his favorite movies. It taught him to do a rain check every time he aspired perfection and love jazz among every other genre of music. (He loved every genre of music. Except death metal. Because ew.) But "Caravan," the final piece in the movie, he had fallen in love with immediately. And now, he was going to play it.

He held his drumsticks in his left hand as his right pressed play, but when a thirty-second ad played, he suddenly had an idea.

He hit the lights, plunging the entire room in complete black.

As the video buffered from the shitty internet connection, he envisioned different scenes in the movie. All of them involved Terence Fletcher. In one of the final scenes, he was telling the audience the band was going to play "Upswingin'" a difference of about 75 bpm, right before he would launch into a 160 bpm double-time Latin.

Then, when the video was ready, he was standing in front of him. The first scene, every expectation there.

"Double-time Latin. One, two, three, four…"

With a hit on the crash, he launched into a double-time Latin, micromanaging his tempo before he started to freestyle. It was all the noise of the band, first the bass, then the piano and the passionate brass, that filled his ears. He tuned out from all the violence of his job, violence of the world (ironic since the movie had its little bit of blood and broken fingers itself) as the music sauntered through him at 160 beats per minute.

Four minutes later, the trombone solo ended and he was preparing to launch into his convoluted drum solo that could be summarized into "do what you want" on sheet music for five minutes.

Unfortunately, the lights came on, screwing up his tempo and caused his playing to screech to a halt. He was about to sling a harshly-worded remark about disturbing what was likely his best drum part ever before he saw who it was.

"Impressive repertoire you got here, Dusty," said Mallowleaf, inviting herself in as Dusty fumbled with his headphones to address the general of the Resistance.

"Is this where you've been all morning? Doing jazz solos instead of showing up to base?"

Dusty took the easy way out. "Yes."

Mallowleaf nodded. "Interesting, because the records say that you've only been in the studio for…" she looked at a small receipt-looking slip of paper, "'ten minutes."

"Yes, what I meant to say," said Dusty, hastily correcting himself, "is that I was searching for a new violin. Y'know, something new to indulge myself on."

Mallowleaf put him to the test. "What piece did you have in mind?"

The response came so fast, Dusty didn't realize he was saying it. "'The Swan,' by Camille Saint-Saens."

The general raised her eyebrow. "Dusty, that's a cello solo."

This caught Dusty off-guard. "How did you-"

"Ashtooth clued me in that you have a knack for classical. Did some light research myself."

The boy sagged his shoulders in defeat. "Alright, fine. You win."

Mallowleaf lowered herself until they were the same height, which was awkward enough since Dusty was only four inches shorter than her, but she knew it would make him listen. "Dusty, we have a war on our hands, one where the fate of our home is in the balance. You are the best close-combat fighter we have. We _need_ you, Dusty," she gestured to the expanse of instruments surrounding the two soldiers, "I know you love music and I respect that, but if we don't have you, we lose the fight, and all this is gone. All of these opportunities to do the thing you love, Dusty, wasted, surrendered to ARS."

Dusty stood silent, but showed by his eyes that he was intensely listening. It was strange how she made him feel like her son every time they talked, likely one of her own rhetorical skills.

"Please, Dusty," she said, "I know fighting's not something you enjoy that much, but your skill is something we really need. For the good of this island."

The boy sighed, nodding. Weeks ago, when the resistance was still forming, he and Daffodil had come to terms with a respectable rate for showing up and training for six days a week. Though he heavily favored his music over his training and fighting, he rarely screwed up his attendance or would skip for any reason.

He had a reason today, and Mallowleaf seemed to sniff that out. "Now since we're here," she said, smirking, "Dare I ask where you were all morning?"

Dusty didn't even try to get out of this. Mallowleaf seemed to have a supernatural specialty for sniffing out lies, but this felt awkward to say out loud.

"I…" he said, reaching over to scratch the back of his neck, "I got a date."

"_Really?_" said the woman, surprised, "Well, good for you. She cute?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling momentarily before his face scrunched up in worry.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Well, it's actually a _he_."

To his surprise and monumental relief, she shrugged. "Okay. Well, congrats. You asked him out?"

"Yeah."

"Where to?"

"The, uh...the coffee shop."

"Ah yes. The timeless classic."

"Well, see," he said, looking at his shoes, "He works at the coffee shop."

That made Mallowleaf chuckle. "Well, good for you. At least you can avoid the likely hassle of having him ride on the back of your bicycle." Dusty chuckled at that. "But getting back on topic, you should probably get to camp as soon as possible. I just barely won over Coalstrike breaking into Ashtooth's car and draggin' you back to camp by the ear."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Bit emphatic, ain't it?"

"Either way, you should get going," she said guiding him to the main part of the music store, "Pedal like the world is ending, Dusty?"

"Oh come on! Don't you have a car?"

Mallowleaf crossed her arms. "I have three kids, Dusty. And as you know, they're not the tidiest in the world."

"Fair...fair point," he said, rushing out the door, waving.

Mallowleaf gave a curt wave back, but her eyes drifted to a woman, about 16 or 17, looking over the last box of guitar picks.

The error that she realized the girl had made, though, was that she had been looking at the same box of picks since she snuck in fifteen minutes prior.

She casually strolled over to the general area before turning around and looking over the woman's shoulder at the box of picks she was holding.

"You play guitar?"

The girl didn't turn around, but acknowledged her with a slight nod. "Not willingly. Folks at home wanted me to expand my skills."

Mallowleaf nodded. "Must be a strict family."

The girl inadvertently let out a chuckle. "You better believe it."

"Oh, I do."

Mallowleaf drew her gun, a denim-shaded Glock 43X, and aimed the barrel at the back of her neck.

"If you sent anything, you're gonna be sporting a hole in your throat for the forseeable future."

The girl smiled. "Oh, that doesn't matter. They're on their way as we-"

**_BANG!_**

Mallowleaf pulled the trigger, killing the girl immediately and causing the box of plastic guitar picks to explode across the aisle. Taking a moment to decipher what the ARS agent had said as she walked with purpose to the counter and dropped a twenty in front of the cashier cowering under the desk, it then dawned on her what they were going to do as if a train had hit her at full speed.

She raced out the door, sprinting to the nearest phone booth. She drew the curtains used for privacy, stumbled across a small video camera nestled in the top corner, which she promptly ripped out and crushed with her feet, and dialed the number to camp.

The boy answered with his normal recited spiel. "Island Directional Services, how may I help you?"

"This is Mallowleaf, authentication A-1057, 2994."

"Something wrong? Where's Dusty?"

"Send Ashtooth to intercept him and get him the hell out of here!" Mallowleaf was hyperventilating now. "ARS found us. We've been compromised!"

* * *

**And that is Chapter One. Hopefully gives you perspective on four of the six OC characters I'll be using.**

**I plan on making Dusty and Ashtooth main characters, while Daffodil and Mallowleaf will be "cheering on from the sidelines."**

**Next chapter, you get the final two OC's intros. And they are some of my favorite characters in the world. (And only one of them is mine).**

**Chapters won't commonly be this long. Just for the first parts of exposition. Then we should plateau at ~1,500 words.**

**Hope you enjoyed the large lump of exposition.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	4. Fight and Flight

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**FIGHT AND FLIGHT**

* * *

"Is that everything?" said the woman, loading the six bags into the trunk of the red SUV.

"Yep! Thanks for your help!" said the bearded man, shutting the trunk and shaking hands four times with his grocery helper before they went their opposite ways, the man slipping into the driver's seat and setting his GPS to the hardware store, the next stop in a long line of errands he needed to complete before day's end.

That's what he had been doing for the year and a half since the bombings. His wife had been severely injured when ARS attacked, so as a low-income family in an island in deep political distress, he was the one working the most, working three shifts at two department stores six days a week, taking the kids to and from school and running errands every Sunday. Yes, it was a haul and hard on his back, but at least he was never bored with himself.

He made a right turn onto Lee Avenue, one of the five roads that led into the city of Excelsio, and accelerated to the speed limit of 60 mph, tapping an incoherent tune on his steering wheel to fill the silence with something more interesting than the purring of the engine.

But as he approached the city gates, the GPS abruptly changed course, instructing him to turn away from the city. To this he momentarily raised an eyebrow, but regardless, merged into the left turn lane at the next stoplight.

As he completed the U-turn, he swiped up to look at the direction list and he stared at it, confused. This happened all the time, the GPS being rerouted, but it just gave him coordinates. He was never usually the one to receive coordinates when this happened.

With a bit more anxiety shown in the speed of his car, he drove back through the suburbs into the suburban area of CoastClan, which was still picking up the pieces from when they were bombed. Hundreds of houses were destroyed, a harsh blow to the area with the most focus on affordable housing.

He made a right on 5th and drove a mile and a half to the shore walk entrance, a small pathway that led from the outskirts of the forest to the north shoreline. He pulled aside, parked the car and grabbed his phone, waiting.

Moments later, he got a call. The caller ID said "Unknown Caller," but he picked up anyway.

"BLACK BICYCLE, LIGHT ORANGE STRIPES. RIDER INJURED. FIND RIDER."

The call hung up. He sighed and reached into his glove compartment, grabbing the Ruger SR9C out from it's hiding beneath some forms and a sheet saying "Terms of Surrender," loaded it, and pursued onto the path. His aim was sloppy, but he moved quickly, taking somewhat minimal precautions to not stay seen.

As he came to the edge of the forest, he saw a glimmer, and he stepped into a modest clearing, where a glossy black bicycle with light orange stripes lay, it's wheels being punctured and dented beyond repair.

But there was no one in sight. The man couldn't even find the direction in which he exited.

Sighing, he pulled out his phone and took a picture of the bike, automatically uploading it to the Cloud, and walked away. He didn't really care that he couldn't find the rider. He just hoped that he could get back on task now. He had a wife and kids at home, too.

He slipped into the driver's seat, tossed the gun on the passenger seat, and turned the key.

The car exploded immediately, the windows shattering to microscopic pieces and the plates and sidings flying out in all directions.

What was left was a burning frame and the skin and bones of a man who had failed his job.

* * *

"If you just wanted me to go straight home, you could have just called."

"We needed to be discreet," said Ashtooth, squinting at the road ahead through his darkened sunglasses, "ARS got on your trail. We needed to give them a false lead to lead them away from us.

"Wait, seriously?" said Dusty, adjusting the fetal position he was in under the back seat, "How did they get to the music store?" Ashtooth shrugged at that.

"Stay low," he said, "They could be anywhere."

'Side note," he said as Ashtooth made a U-turn for the seventh time since he picked him up, "Is Jay working on a way to alert me of suspicious thugs for school in two weeks? Cause if ARS is everywhere, than they'll almost certainly be at school."

Dusty was confused when he didn't answer him.

* * *

"_941762_"

Mallowleaf used the keypad to unveil the hidden door behind a false bookshelf. She shoved open the weighted gateway into a dark, concrete stairway leading fifty feet down at first sight. Following the general was Dusty, Ashtooth, Jaywhisker and two other soldiers acting as guards.

"I'm not trying to solicit myself from you guys!" said Dusty, continuing the argument they had been having since they drove into their CoastClan lakeside house, "I'm just saying that there are some interests that I would like to keep to myself!"

"Why? So you can sneak away successfully without us knowing where you are? Do you know how dangerous this is? ARS could be anywhere! They could kill you whenever they want!"

"Oh, so I'm not good enough to defend myself from the enemy I've been training against for _over a year_?!"

"YES! Because you keep skipping training! That's why!"

"If you two are _quite_ done arguing," said Mallowleaf, now stopped in front of a heavy metal door. She knocked twice, before an eye-slot just above her head slid open.

It scanned it's judging gaze along the impatient and calm before it retreated, sliding the door open. "General," said the man manning the door with a salute.

They walked into a room filled with maps, pictures and sloppy Sharpie writing. The singluar, exposed and worn lightbulb hanging from a wire in the middle of the room was the only chance of illumination, scarring the room with ominous shadows. Dusty took the chair closest to him while everyone else stood behind him, at attention, at ease.

"Glad to see you enjoyed your morning off, Dusty," chastised a booming voice opposite the boy. Any sarcastic quip or retort fizzled out of Dusty's mouth the moment he heard the threatening voice.

From the shadows emerged a muscular man, about 6'3", wearing a worn and torn green army jacket. He had handsome, black hair and a cleanly-cut beard, impressive for a man very early in his mid-twenties. Next to him emerged a beautiful woman in her early twenties, her clean, brown hair draping over her shoulder, a near match in height. Their disposition commanded attention, and seemed to say novels about how they could be the leaders of this operation. They were not, but their posture and voices gave them a certain aura of confidence no one could so easily overlook, even if they tried.

"Coalstrike, Seashell," said the general, stepping forward and shaking their hands respectively.

After taking Mallowleaf's hand, he turned to Ashtooth. "How goes the setup?"

"All ready. Took some bribery, but they'll be ready to move on our command. Should fit us all perfectly."

"So they say," he said distrustfully, though he let an affectionate smirk slip through the corners of his mouth that only the other could see. "As for you..." he said, turning to the boy.

Dusty only glanced up from staring at the table, obvious intimidation eliciting his mind even though he had known them since the week after the bombings. He braced himself to get hit. Coalstrike was known to be quite aggressive, after all.

But Seashell reached to the wall to her left and pulled off a large packet, which she promptly dropped in front of Dusty. A pen landed on top of the pile a moment later.

"You have work to do," said Coalstrike, "All of these papers need to be filled out before the day's end. Get ready to practice your signature."

"I thought you did all the paperwork round here," he said, but Coalstrike had pulled Mallowleaf and Ashtooth aside, addressing them urgently.

And then he looked at what he was signing.

A small packet from the private plane company downtown.

A transfer of ownership from the music store downtown regarding his studio.

A small passport, emblazoned with a hastily crafted emblem of Lindisfarne.

An order confirmation sheet for an American private bus service.

A check for $150,000.

And papers emblazoned with a grand tree rising from a lake with a star cut out from the middle.

Dusty sifted through the papers, his eyes widening more and more, before looking to Seashell. "I...I don't understand."

Seashell looked conflicted about this decision, taking a seat across from Dusty. "We...have decided to transfer you out of Lindisfarne and into Warriors High. On Forrestlake."

Dusty was shocked.

He was _leaving_?

"We made contact with a source on Forrestlake who reached out to us and said they would like to help," Seashell continued, gesturing to a picture of a young man, about twenty or so, with vibrant ginger hair, "He's got money, he's got resources and he's got friends with…'fighting experience,' he says."

"Yeah, that's great and all, but why do _I_ have to leave? Why am I the one running from this fight?"

"You're not," said Coalstrike, the conversation with the two soldiers concluded, "We're coming with you, at least for a little while."

"Why can't they just come to us?"

"Too risky. ARS would find out someone is coming. They've cut off all passenger boat lines and flights for a reason."

"Well then, Why can't they just send us supplies?"

Coalstrike crouched, meeting Dusty's eye-level, "Because what good are supplies when ARS is just gonna match them and overtake whatever we get. You saw that ARS tactician. He looked just like an average Joe, but he had a Glock in the trunk of his car. We get knives, they get Glocks. We get assault rifles, they get semi-autos. We get grenades, RPGs, they get _nuclear bombs._"

"And you think we're not capable of defeating them ourselvers? After all we've been through, we go running to some other rock in the ocean who has better guns than we do? That's it?"

"We've lost the island, Dusty," snapped Mallowleaf, likely bursting a dam that held back her pent up frustration, "We have for a long time. Look around. So many civilians have gone to ARS that it's impossible to tell who's innocent and who's under their orders. They have the power to tell one of their agents to whip out a gun and kill who they like. We've done too little too late here. We need to find another front to fight on if we want to salvage our sliver of a chance of beating them."

"So then why are you so bent on taking me out of the fight?!"

"Because we want to protect you!" shouted Ashtooth, "That's always been our priority. You first, island and war second. That's how it always has been!"

Dusty couldn't believe this, standing up so quickly, his chair toppled over."So all this is to get me out of the fight?! After all the training I've done, you want me to _hide?!_"

"Yes!"

"WHY?!"

"BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT JETSTORM AND AMBERCLOUD WOULD HAVE WANTED!" roared Coalstrike.

A tense silence followed. Dusty, after a couple moments, reached over and sat his chair up again, slouching back in his seat. Coalstrike winced and looked away, regretting what he had just said intensely.

Ashtooth walked up from behind him, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're your family, Dusty. We've always tried to protect you and we always will."

Dusty glanced around, surrounded by aunts, uncles, godparents and unwavering friends, but there still resided the hole in his heart that would never be quite filled again.

And he had been shutting them out after they were gone. Acknowledging them as comrades, generals, ignoring the roles they played in his family. Yet here they were, willing to travel between oceans to save him.

"It's always been for you, Dusty," said the general, kneeling down to look at him opposite Ashtooth, "ARS took your life away from you. We don't just fight for the island. We fight for you."

Dusty looked around at his family, smiling, letting their guard down for the first and one of the only times in their lives.

His family, the one that would truly to anything to protect him.

And in that fleeting moment, he felt almost as safe as he ever had in his life.

He grabbed the pen, turned to the final page of the packet consenting his transfer to Warriors High, and signed it, his name skewered sloppily across the dotted line.

He looked up to see everyone smiling around him. A confident smirk slipped through the corners of his mouth.

"When do we start?"

* * *

**Doesn't it suck when you finish what you think is a pretty solid chapter and you have nothing to say about it after?**

**Well okay, I will say what comes next, is pretty intense, and it involves ARS, motorcycles, an Uber, tension between America and Lindisfarne, a prettty sick fight sequence (hopefully), and a fuel crisis executed better than Last Jedi.**

**And that's before we even get to Forrestlake.**

**So keep an eye out. Hopefully you find this story intriguing and stick around for when things get _real_ interesting.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	5. Trans-Continental Targets (Part I)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**TRANS-CONTINENTAL TARGETS (PART I)**

* * *

A black-masked figure stepped forward to a table holding a map of the United States of America. Two X's were drawn to its immediate right, about a hundred miles off the coast of Manhattan, and another drawn a couple hundred miles southwest of Alaska.

She held out her hand, and one of the seventeen black-covered soldiers tossed her a thick red pen. She uncapped it and got to work.

She began by drawing dotted lines across the Atlantic to every major coastal city, New York City, Miami, D.C., etc. Using the mildly accurate scale in the bottom right, she made approximations about the distance between the crossed island and the destinations marked. After tapping the butt of the pen on the table four times, she drew a large circle around New Jersey.

A couple of the soldiers glanced uncertainly at each other as she circled the near-circular indent in Minnesota and drew a line between the Twin Cities and the Jersey Shore. Using her two fingers and the scale on the bottom right, she calculated the distance at around 1,200 miles.

"There," said the woman, pointing to her handiwork, "They'll be taking a plane from Lindisfarne to New Jersey, probably Williamsport, then find some way to get to MSP, which is the most stable hotspot to get access from America to Forrestlake."

She threw her hands up in the air at the bewildered looks of her comrades. "Do I have to explain everything to the lot of ya? Okay…" she pulled a tablet out of a drawer, punched in the passcode and pulled up an archived yearbook page from the year 2022. One of the kid's friends was named 'Blackwhisker,' but he was nicknamed "Jersey Shore.' That means he must have had something to do with the area, like studyin' it or somethin'. If we can get there first, we can kill them before they even have a chance to make it over to Forrestlake.

"Thank you, Fir," said a distorted voice, stepping forward menacingly, "Your contributions to ARS are always beneficial."

Fir put on a wavering, terrified smile. "My pleasure, ma'am."

"The black-figured woman placed a figure on her left temple, likely signaling an earpiece, and spoke. "We have their location. Assemble a strike team and move out immediately to their location. Execute with extreme prejudice."

She lowered her hand. "Everyone, you know what to do. Prepare for battle. Dismissed."

Everyone shuffled out of the room except Fir, who the woman tapped on the shoulder and asked her to stay behind.

"Take off your mask," was the first thing she said.

Behind her all-black, protective and face-shielding mask, the woman's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, ma'am?"

"I have an assignment for you. One that I can only look you in the eyes to deliver."

There was so much wrong in that sentence that it unsettled her enough to undo the latches and disable the breathing apparatus around her mouth, taking off the mask and revealing a face of natural beauty, slightly tan and covered with marks, likely one of the sacrifices that she suffered from having to wear a mask for community-wide face-associated anonymity for sixteen hours a day.

She stared down the leader's facemask, her vibrant amber eyes adjusting to the light of the environment around her.

"We found their destination," began the leader, to which she cut off Fir's conventional congratulations for all positive endeavors she completed, "and we have decided to proceed with the Replacement Procedure."

Her heart skipped several beats, her face slackening. Surely she didn't mean…

From her back pocket, she pulled a small picture of a girl with long, pale blue hair in a ponytail and glimmering blue eyes and handed it to the girl. "You'll have the plane ride to Forrestlake to perfect your American accent."

The picture quivered in Fir's hand. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm not sure I'm capable enough-"

"I thought you'd say that. Which is why I have a bargain for you. Have you ever read _The Giver_?"

Fir shook her head.

"It's about this...community revolving around Sameness. Everyone is the same, no variation in race, emotion or thoughts whatsoever. All around a pretty stupid idea, but their methods of 'release,' relieving the community from its irregularities, the old, the sick, the ones who break the rules…"

_Oh no…_

She pulled back the visor on her facemask, revealing one eye of vibrant, threatening shades on black and blue and the other stripped of color in blindness and crisscrossed with scars. "I have become aware of your...affair of sorts with one of our own. You know well how I feel about...misplaced feelings in this little community of our own."

She grew a gun equipped with a long silencer, holding it in the air, and allowed the girl to finish the threat in her head.

"So, do we have a deal?"

* * *

"I worry about him."

Daffodil sighed, not moving from her nestling place on Ashtooth's shoulder, "You always worry about everyone. Which 'he' is it this time?"

"Okay, I'm worried about everyone. Again."

Almost everyone from the resistance was now cramped together in a small plane, flying off the island and towards an undisclosed location in America, the shades drawn and the only light in the moody cabin being the reading light above Mallowleaf's head, the dim, reduced light of Jaywhisker's laptop and the promise of a sunrise in the thin hours of the morning.

"You worry too much."

"At least it's a way of life."

Daffodil smirked. "You're also too cynical."

"Yeah, I'm working on that."

"And a liar."

Ashtooth rolled his eyes, resting his head back on his girlfriend's.

"So what'd you think of the new gun?"

"Eh," he said, "So-so. The concept was cool, but it needs some tweaking to make the assembly smoother, it's a pain in the ass to reload…"

"You do realize that I helped make the gun, right?"

"BUT it's also got a great hold, the trigger's the smoothest I've ever pulled and it has incredible range. Why didn't you tell me before I started?"

"Eh. You're really cute when you're flustered."

"You're so evil."

"I know," she said, leaning in and kissing him lightly. They broke apart after a moment, their noses still touching slightly.

"Stop worrying. It's bad for you," chided Daffodil, smiling.

Ashtooth smiled back. "Well, I'll give it a shot, but only since you asked nicely."

* * *

Coalstrike never meant to doze off. He only realized he did when he noticed he was dreaming.

He was suspended, genuflecting over an endless expanse of oceanic water. His wrists were invisibly bound to his hips and neck was frozen in position.

He couldn't move.

His eyes drifted around his surroundings. Everything looked, felt blurry and foggy like his mind was active beyond his will, but in the murkiness, he saw a great black figure emerging from the depths, causing alarm to flare in his idle state of mind.

He hadn't dreamt in a long time, which caused him to forget what to expect.

But the figure began to split apart as the surface became closer to them. He felt his heart lose all sense of pace when their faces emerged.

The jaws of the sea released three children all of them flailing helplessly and screaming, wailing for a savior, for help. Coalstrike realized he didn't want to see this, so, with the knowledge that he was helplessly tied, he scrunched his eyes shut and willed himself to wake up. But the screams got louder, more poignant and able to be dictated.

"DAD!"

"Please, Dad! Help us!"

"DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Coalstrike opened his eyes and saw the children, realizing that one of them had soot black hair like his own, the second had long brown hair like Seashell's and the third was a male with short brown hair and a face just like his father's.

Him.

Now Coalstrike was sobbing, tears clouding his vision and his wails of helpless grief taking their long-removed place in the ears of his slumbering mind once again.

And he woke up.

He didn't even acknowledge Seashell staring at him as he rushed to the back of the cabin, locking himself in the small singular lavatory so quickly that he was in pitch black for four seconds before the violet lights flickered on.

Coalstrike unzipped his fuzzy coat and used it to wipe away the sweat and tears from his face, staring his reflection down with enough hatred and rage that it would make the coldest hearts quiver with intimidation. He almost punched the mirror, but decided against it.

His hand drifted to his right pocket, where he grabbed a small pharmaceutical bottle of tiny white pills with its sticker smudged off and ripped. He pried the airtight cover off and took the pill dry, washing his mouth with the airplane tap water, which made bathwater taste passable in comparison.

He stared himself down once again, flipping off his reflection one last time before flushing and unlocking the door to see Seashell, arms crossed and her eyes filled with frustration.

"You brought the pills with you."

The man didn't even bother lying. "So what? Do you _not_ want me to sleep at night?"

Seashell snatched the bottle from his hand. "I want you to learn to tolerate your nightmares instead of hiding behind these. If you keep running, you'll get nothing but an OD in five years-"

Coalstrike tore the pill bottle out of the woman's hand, cutting her off. "You don't get it, do you? I _need_ these! Chances are you would keep them, too, if you saw what I see without them."

Seashell didn't stop Coalstrike as he stormed back to his seat. Now she was concerned about how the things he saw today were worse than what they were before.

* * *

At 4:51 AM on August 17, 2024, the plane touched down in the airfield in Jersey Shore airport, a couple of miles from Philadelphia.

After dropping off a wad of hundreds to the pilots, the group hustled to a silver compact bus, where they would be discretely transported about 1,100 miles to Terminal 1 at MSP, sneaking their way on a plane to Forrestlake.

That was the plan.

But where would the fun be if everything went according to plan?

* * *

Everyone got settled into the comfy environment of the bus pretty quickly. That was a good thing, considering the ride was supposed to be 15 hours long.

Mallowleaf was in the far corner, casually reading the memoir of some ex-soldier, it seemed–Dusty had only glanced at the dust-cover–that looked to be about seven meters thick, Coalstrike and Seashell were passed out in the seat behind him, Ashtooth was half-heartedly watching a soccer replay on some cable network provided with the convenient seat-back entertainment (requested by Jaywhisker behind Coalstrike's back under "Special Modifications") and Dusty was dueling off with Jaywhisker in some good ol' fashioned Rocket League from his monitor, comfortably nestled between the headrests of the seats above them.

Considering how Jay was the tech whiz, he was kicking his ass.

"Jesus," muttered Dusty as Jay knocked in another goal, making it 17-1, "I feel like you made the match twenty minutes long just to mock me."

"No, this is just how I play."

"How the hell do you even find the…"Dusty paused to clear the ball from his own goal, "...like, the time to get good at all this."

"Well, I do have chronic insomnia," he said.

Dusty paused the game. "You do? I didn't know about this."

"Good," he responded, "Because you're the first one to know. I don't know where it came from, but about seven months ago, I couldn't get myself to fall asleep under my own will. I tried melatonin, but I just couldn't fall asleep. So I stopped trying, and every five, six days or so, I pass out for 18 hours."

Dusty scrunched up his face in confusion. "That's not how sleep works."

"I've just stopped questioning it." Jay reached over and pressed the start button on Dusty's controller, allowing another goal. "There we go. 18-1. Good game. Play again?"

"Sure, why not. We've got hours to burn."

"Hey, guys?"

Both boys turned to Ashtooth, who looked much more awake and much more concerned. "You guys should come see this."

Dusty and Jay scrambled to the seat directly behind him and Daffodil while Mallowleaf woke Coalstrike and Seashell. On Ashtooth's screen was a breaking news telegram from the local station. The sniper unplugged the headset he was listening to and turned up the volume.

"After being labeled as "Dormant" by the Department of Defense, action has been confirmed by the extremist terrorist group known as the Assassins of the Rising Sun. Earlier this morning, a message was sent on several social media platforms, including Facebook, Twitter and Instagram."

The telegram clicked away to a dark message , in which Dusty could barely make out about fifteen or sixteen black, masked figures, all armed with assault rifles and all in a silent, straight line.

"WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE." said a distorted voice somewhere among the crowd.

"WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING."

Mallowleaf and Coalstrike glanced at each other in fear. "Search the car," ordered Seashell.

"WE KNEW YOU WOULD RUN."

"What the hell is going on?" whimpered Jay, "How do they know where we are?"

"This is got to be a bluff, right?"

"SO WE FOLLOWED YOU ALONG."

"GUYS!" shouted Coalstrike, "The driver's gone!"

"WHAT?!" shouted everyone simultaneously.

"THERE'S NO MORE USE IN RUNNING."

Daffodil was trying her hardest to rip open the side door, but it seemed to be binded shut. "MOVE!" shouted Mallowleaf, drawing her pistol and shooting the lock. The compression system keeping the door locked released and the door slackened opened.

"DO NOT RESIST."

"JAY, GET OUT OF THERE!" shouted Dusty as everyone else grabbed what they could and abandoned the car. This was most certainly a set-up.

The seventeen-year-old was trying to lug the console of his computer out of the trunk with one arm. Dusty ran over to help him, hoisting the console to his chest and sprinting off as fast he could.

Moments later, the group turned to see a fireball streaking through the sky, whizzing over their heads and careening with the van, causing it to explode immediately. Dusty hit the deck, his chest and stomach sheltering the giant console as his hands flew to the back of his head.

He felt the strong hand of Ashtooth grab the tag of his shirt and holster him to his feet, shoving him as the rest of the group sprinted away from the wreckage of their ride.

When he saw the harsh spotlights of three motorcycles turning off the road on his back, he didn't think twice, the silent air pierced by the crackling of incendiary flames and the roaring and revving of motorcycles.

_We're gonna die! And we're not even at Forrestlake yet!_

* * *

"_YOU DO REALIZE THIS IS A HORRIBLE IDEA, RIGHT?"_

_"THEY'RE TARGETS! WE'LL BE TARGETS IF THEY KNOW WE'RE TAKING THEM IN."_

_"WHAT WILL THE THREE THINK? WHAT WILL EVERYONE WHO IS STRONGER, WHICH IS A LOT OF PEOPLE, THINK WHEN THEY SEE THEM?"_

_"WHAT IF THEY DON'T EVEN MAKE IT TO THE ISLAND."_

_Foxleap answered Midnight with the same answer every time._

_"It's a gut feeling, Midnight. I need to save them, whatever it takes."_

_"SIR, NEVER ONCE HAS THAT BEEN A REASON TO ANYTHING YOU HAVE DONE."_

_"It is now."_

Now the red-haired boy sat atop a certain bell-tower, casting his gaze over the silent, dimly lit city, it's scars from the beating it took more prevalent than ever.

He did have his reasons. The issue was that they kept changing and most of the time, they didn't make sense.

But he had a drive, a _passion_ to save them.

He just had to figure out why.

* * *

**And Foxleap the savior enters the picture.**

**I'm...not sure how I feel about this chapter. I feel like I've done action and tension better than I did here before, but this is pretty new for me, going into this much nitty-gritty detail.**

**Next chapter is part 2 of this big experiment. I hope you'll at least find it the slightest bit engaging, because that's the telltale on whether this story sinks or swims.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	6. Trans-Continental Targets (Part II)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**TRANS-CONTINENTAL TARGETS (****PART II)**

* * *

Dusty was skilled at many things. Running long distance, however, was not one of them.

A year before the bombings, he had been pressured into a big race for the field day his junior high put on for the last day of school. He did alright, finishing in the middle of the pack, but was so out of breath that he had downed four water bottles before he could even slow his breath enough to speak. Comedically, he had proclaimed that he would not be trying out for the track team the following spring.

But now here he was, running for his life through a tangled, jungle-like thicket for his life while holstering a thirty pound console against his chest. They had run almost a mile from the explosion and Dusty was concerned that he was about to faint.

Spotlights focused on the back of the fleeing group, sending their shadows into a frenzied, uncoordinated dance among the erect limbs of wood.

"We need a diversion!" shouted Seashell, her voice just barely standing the threatening growls of the motorcycle engines.

"How?!" snapped Jaywhisker, "We're literally in the jungle and everything we're carrying is something we can't lose! There's no way we could possibly-"

"Don't worry, guys!" shouted Ashtooth suddenly, "I have a plan!"

If Ashtooth said anything, then it was drowned out by the intense blasts of a minigun spraying through the trees and sending bark flying through the air. Seashell yanked Jaywhisker and Dusty aside, sheltering them behind a trunk while Mallowleaf took position behind another, desperately loading her pistol.

"ASH?" shouted Seashell, "WE COULD REALLY USE THAT PLAN ABOUT NOW!"

Dusty looked around, alarm burning his chest when he couldn't find either Ashtooth or Coalstrike in the harsh white light coming nearer and nearer.

The minigun fired again, its bullets piercing the trunk of Mallowleaf's cover and causing her to clench up behind the tree, praying that the tree would hold.

_This is it!_ screamed Dusty inwardly, _This is where we die!_

_**BANG!**_

The minigun was silenced, and shouting occurred from the drivers moments after.

_**BANG!**_

A scream of shock. Dusty heard blind gunshots amid the second motorcycle's revving as it lagged close behind.

The boy dared himself to peek out and saw the third driver, aiming his gun blindly amid the dead bodies of his fellow drivers. IN the blink of an eye, he saw a throwing knife pierce the tense air and the back of the driver's skull as a slow, painful death ceased his sinful life.

Coalstrike walked out, casually strolling to the body, ripping out the knife, and slashing the man in the back to make sure he was dead.

Everyone, even Mallowleaf, was shocked. "_How the hell…?_'

"Misdirection," said Ashtooth curtly, emerging from the tree in front of the cowering group. "Miniguns require focus. They thought they were being smart by being this aggressive."

"But...you disappeared just like that!"

Ashtooth smirked, "Magicians never reveal their secrets, don't they?"

It really wasn't that impressive, how he sneaked away. It was a rare error on the part of ARS that gave them the opportunity. The selection of a minigun, a very aggressive rapid-fire choice, required focus to aim. To avoid hitting the drivers or unwanted targets, the driver with the gun focused solely on the trees that Mallowleaf and company were hiding behind, allowing Coalstrike and Ashtooth, both of whom were flanking the group, to slip away unnoticed. It was almost like a miracle or a stroke of plot convenience in a bad novel.

But ARS had screwed up. This was now their shot to get out of this mess.

But they first had to deal with the second revving of an engine and spotlight shining through the trees.

"Guys!" shouted Jaywhisker, "There's more of them!"

Mallowleaf and Daffodil began to load their pistols, but Ashtooth called them off. "We've got this."

He walked up next to Coalstrike, standing still as the lights drew closer.

"_What the hell are they doing?"_ hissed Dusty to Seashell, who was for some reason smiling.

"Just watch."

For she knew that when it came to combat, Coalstrike and Ashtooth worked together like a machine. As if on cue, they reloaded their guns with near identical motions, cocked them, and aimed.

The moment the motorcycle came into view, they fired.

_**BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

Six shots were fired so in sync it sounded to Dusty like three. The only sign he saw of their success was the spotlight diverting to the side and remaining still. He peeked out to see the two standing still, waiting to confirm their success.

"All right, on your feet everyone!" said Ashtooth turning and clapping his hands, "Get up and stretch! We got a long drive ahead of us!"

Dusty and Jaywhisker exchanged relieved looks, now just happy that they were alive, while the adults met up. "How are we gonna get there? Our ride is kind of exploded by now." said Mallowleaf.

Ashtooth gestured to Coalstrike, who was propping up one of the motorcycles that ARS had used.

"Why do you think we didn't aim for the fuel tanks?"

* * *

What followed was probably the most uncomfortable drive Dusty would ever be on.

Keeping the motorcycles intact was a smart idea, he didn't dispute that, but they now had to figure out how to cram seven people onto two motorcycles when their maximum capacity was meant for four people total.

Between Jaywhisker and Dusty, the two flipped a coin. Unfortunately, Jaywhisker was stuck with the cramped four-person ride while Dusty got a little more leather to sit on. He'd probably take it out on him the next time they played video games, but he didn't really care at this point.

And so all throughout that longest morning, the group drove through roads crossing forests fields and forgotten towns. All were exhausted by the early morning scare, but they had to keep moving. They had no time to allow ARS to catch up.

At around 9:00 AM, they stopped for gas. They pulled up to a destitute-looking gas station lying next to a small, run-down motel. As Seashell filled the tanks up, Jaywhisker ran right in, grabbed as many adrenaline shots as his two hands could hold, and dropped it in front of the cashier, who couldn't help but give him a look that was some combination of amused and worried.

"All of these?" he asked after scanning the eighth of about twenty-five, "You sure that's a good idea? This shit ain't healthy, y'know."

"I've had a long night, okay?" he growled.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop pushing."

Dusty stood in front of the microwave, waiting as the seconds ticked down before his ham sandwich was heated up, until a glimmer from the sun caught his eye.

He caught himself before a gasp slipped out of his lungs as he caught eye of what he saw.

_Three_ guns. All of them mid-range. All of them semi-automatic. All of them taped under the table with masking tape.

He looked away as the cashier finished bagging Jaywhisker's head of adrenaline shots, tapped the microwave anxiously and and brought his food out to pay when it finished.

"You don't look to be from around here," said the cashier, ringing up the sandwich for him, "Where you from?"

All sorts of alarms went off in his head. It was then when he realized he was the only one in the store.

"Uh…"

"Ey, don't worry about it. As long as you ain't from that Lindisfarne shithole, we're cool. Those people crossing the borders with their weird-ass names and trying to extort sympathy out of us. Fuck the lot of them, honestly."

Of course.

Of all the people they could possibly run into.

"I...gotta go. My folks are waiting on me."

"Aight, well, I won't stop you."

Dusty bolted out the door, stuffing the sandwich in his pocket.

"You seem riled up," said Ashtooth, "What's wrong?"

"We need to get the hell outta here."

"Jesus, kid. We're going as fast as we can, aren't we?" snapped Coalstrike.

Dusty glanced back.

The cashier was staring at them very intently.

His hand reached under his desk…

"Go, go, go, GO!" shouted Dusty, "He's got a gun!"

Instantly, everyone rushed to their ride, barely getting on before the drivers, Coalstrike and Mallowleaf, roared the engines and drove out of the station as fast as they could.

Back in the station, the cashier smiled, letting his hand drop.

He grabbed his phone, dialed a number written on the empty cigarette box next to him and waited.

"Yeah...the boy and their entourage you told me about? I found them."

A pause.

"Yeah, no problem. So when can I get my cash reward?"

Another pause.

"What do you mean 'my services are no longer required?'"

It was only then that he noticed the laser pointer on his forehead.

Moments later, the man fell to the ground, the phone dropping from his hand and blood pouring from the bullet hole in his forehead.

"I got them," said the man on the deck of the motel's second floor across the street, unlocking his sniper, "They're on two motorcycles, egregiously violating the weight capacity."

* * *

"_YOU SHOULD AT LEAST TELL THEM TO EXPECT VISITORS._"

"I'm not going to do that, KARAI."

"_AND WHY NOT_?"

"It's better for them to not know about this one. I've taught them to keep their paranoid noses out of my stuff, so it shouldn't be that hard-"

"_WOW. YOU REALLY ARE STUPID._"

Foxleap turned to the AI, leaning back on an office chair. "Stupid? Me? I have access to all the money I want. I can create defense devices in less than an hour! I CREATED YOU, DAMNIT! HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M STUPID?"

"_BECAUSE YOU THINK EVERYONE ELSE IS STUPID. SIMPLE AS THAT!"_

"I DO NOT-"

"Whatcha doing?"

Foxleap was immediately closing tabs as fast as he could. "NOTHING! NOTHING!"

The intruder, a tall boy of about 17 or 18 with long, curly gray-silver hair in a loose ponytail and potent blue eyes, raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Please don't tell me you're trying to work with explosives again. The last time that happened."

"Didn't we agree to never discuss that incident again?"

"I don't remember me agreeing to that. I know you did, though."

Foxleap threw an empty can at the boy, which he let fall to ground about a foot short of him.

"I have to finish making preparations for Dovewing and Tigerheart's wedding, remember?" he lied smoothly, "They want me to keep the theme a surprise, so I can't tell you what I'm working on."

"Geez, I thought you were all 'not interested in love' after you broke up with Ivypool."

"For the hundredth time, we didn't break up! I...we needed a break after the Scourge ideal. I wanted to give us time to-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever."

"Now can you please leave me alone?"

"Since you asked nicely…Hey, Midnight."

"_NICE TO SEE YOU, JAYFEATHER."_

When he left, Foxleap let out a sigh of relief. "_WELL, I MUST ADMIT, YOUR LYING GAME IS GETTING BETTER._"

The redhead nodded. "That's how you get to keep the fun missions."

He pulled up an airline website and checked in on a specific flight; MSP to Forrestlake.

_The flight leaves in about two hours now,_ he thought. _Let's hope nothing goes wrong now._

* * *

***explosion noises***

**I'M BACK BITCHES.**

**Goddamn it's been a while since I've recommitted to a series. You can probably tell that this chapter was mainly cleaning the rust off. I'm sorry for the unannounced hiatus. My grades have been slumping recently and I guess I needed to walk away from writing for a while.**

**And don't you think it's convenient that I come back just after I'm ordered to put myself into quarantine?**

**Fuck you coronavirus.**

**But now that I have time to write, I just might be able to bring the gang to Forrestlake. And that's where I leave this crap behind and get into the events I have planned for a long time.**

**Thanks for sticking around. I hope I can make it worth your time in the near future.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	7. Trans-Continental Targets (Part III)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**TRANS-CONTINENTAL TARGETS (PART III)**

* * *

Dusty was half asleep when the group pulled into Minneapolis.

When they pulled off the interstate and into the airport campus, they pulled the motorcycles into the impound lot, left them in some empty parking spaces and half-walked half-stumbled to the terminal. They were dirty, their eyes were bloodshot and they were about to collapse from exhaustion.

Except for Jaywhisker.

"You guys go find a bench," he said, leading them to one of the blocks of waiting chairs, "I'll go buy our tickets."

As the rest of his group skulked away, Jaywhisker walked to the terminal and registered for seven tickets. They would be in clusters of one or two near the front, which would probably be fine. Security could pick up ARS here. They almost certainly didn't have any influence in America yet.

He printed out the tickets, snuck them in his back jean pocket and snatched Mallowleaf's bag from the group, who was already asleep. He would need to figure out how to get the guns past security. They certainly didn't have a license for them in America, so they would be doomed if they got caught.

He would need to disassemble them, configure the parts to make them look like non-lethal items to get there.

"NYOOOOOOOOOM!"

Jaywhisker almost leaped through the ceiling as a young boy, looking to be about six or seven, soared past, gripping a light blue model airplane with an iron fist. He was scolding himself for allowing himself to be that scared when he heard a collision behind him.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't get mad!"

"Woah there! It's okay, little guy! I'm not upset."

Jaywhisker glanced around to see the boy had bumped into a security guard. _Okay_, he sighed, _At least he'll get him back to his parents._

"Woah!" said the boy behind him, "Are you a police officer?"

"Heck yeah I am!" said the guard, having a mighty fine time with the boy, "In fact, I'm on a secret mission right now! Would you like to help?"

"Really? _Yeah!_"

"Okay. I'm hunting a super bad guy right now, but I need your help! So can you lead me to your parents so I can talk to them?"

Despite trying to ignore them, Jaywhisker almost laughed out loud. This guy clearly had experience with adventurous children.

"Oh, they're not here."

Jaywhisker froze.

"What…what do you mean by that?" stammered the police officer, obviously in the same amount of shock as Jaywhisker was.

"They drove me here this morning and told me to stay here. I haven't seen them since, but they told me to give someone this."

Jaywhisker turned around to see the boy holding a plane ticket.

His parents were _shipping him away_.

And he had no idea.

Jaywhisker dropped his bag and stormed over to the boy.

"Can I see that?" he asked, "He may be on my flight."

He intended for that to be a lie, but was surprised to see that the tickets were almost identical. The flight number was the same, they were in the same row, the only difference was the one letter in the seats.

They were seated right next to each other.

Jaywhisker did the math. The odds of that happening on a plane that size was about 1 in 200,000, only a third of the odds of getting struck by lightning.

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the ticket one seat off of the boy's and showed it to the officer. "We sit next to each other."

The officer was immediately shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but if you're suggesting that you should take care of him, I'm not going to allow that. We're going to take him into custody and find those bastards of parents who left him here."

"Sir, what if that's not the case?" said Jaywhisker, crouching down, what if they were in danger and they told him to get on a plane to Forrestlake? Maybe he has family there."

"I'm sorry," said the officer, rubbing his eyes, "But do you possibly believe that some parents would trust a six year old boy to check into an airport and find his way onto a plane _by himself_? That's ridiculous!"

"Well, maybe they wanted him to show someone like you his ticket and lead him there."

"Why would I do that?"

"I wasn't expecting you to. So," said Jaywhisker, standing up straight now, "Why not let me do it?"

"And why should I let you? Why should he have any reason to trust you?"

It was a very good point. Something he surely should have considered before headbutting into this argument. The only reason he didn't want to leave this boy is that he trusted no part of American authority. Not after they ran and hid from the island when they most needed them.

In stress, he started to look around, gesturing for a reason as if it would come out of thin air, and he instead saw a man in all black going through his bag.

_No._

Forget the boy.

"HEY!" shouted Jaywhisker, bolting after the man, who once he saw he was being charged, grabbed the bag and tore off.

They sprinted through the concourse, but the man was not able to get balanced enough to sprint at full speed, so as they got to security, the boy leaped and slammed him to the ground. The bag went flying, only topping when it hit one of the windows and Jaywhisker stood over the man, one foot on his upper back and his hands gripping the thief's right arm, threatening to snap it in half.

The man roared in pain, causing the guards to rush out and attempt to break up the fight. Jaywhisker lost focus for a moment, causing the man to rip free from his grip and grab an item from the bag in desperation.

Which just so happened to be one of the seven guns he was attempting to hide.

Jaywhisker leaped away, his hands flying into the air in instinct, and the guards drew their tasers, screaming orders for him to drop the gun. The man worked himself to his knees, the barrel aimed straight at Jaywhisker.

"_Don't you fucking move_," he growled, "_or I'll blow your brains out._"

He was stuck now.

All he could do was pray that one of the group woke up and got him out of this mess.

Unless…

He glanced at the side of the gun.

And he smiled condescendingly at the poor man, who now quite obviously had never held a gun properly before.

He whipped his hands forward grasping the man's wrist and just held him. The man squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. His face drained of color when he couldn't move it at all.

Jaywhisker smiled.

"The safety's on."

With that, he grasped the man's neck, yanked it to his shoulder, and slammed his kneecap up into the man's stomach. His breath streamed out of his body, blood driblets slipped onto the floor behind him and he doubled over, collapsing in pain as the guards surrounded him.

Jaywhisker dropped the man, grabbed the bag and walked away like a badass to the boy, whose eyes were gleaming in drop-dead admiration.

He grabbed the boy's hand and walked him to the other side of the concourse while the officer he was talking with before was busy with the man whose ass he just whooped.

"Alright, kid," he said, taking a seat in a chair near the beginning of the departure driveway, "What's your name?"

"Well," said the boy, "My real name is Russetleap, but everyone just calls me Russ."

"Russ." He nodded. "I like that name. Well, you can call me Jay, alright?"

"Okay!"

"Now, do you live in Forrestlake? Do you know if you have family there?"

"Well," he thought a moment, "I used to live there, I think, but then my mom married this stinky guy that she wanted me to call dad. He didn't like me, and then my mom stopped liking me. That's why I'm here. They just don't want me around anymore, I guess."

He said all of that with a straight face.

Jaywhisker thought he was about to cry.

"Wow," he said, wiping his brow in disbelief, "Well, I know we just met, but my...family would love to take care of you. They'll make sure you're very safe. How's that sound?"

"Really?" said Russ, his eyes lighting up immediately, "Yes! Yay! I get a family again!"

Jaywhisker was beaming."I'm glad you like the idea. Now, let's go rouse those sleepyheads."

"But," said Russ, now worried as they walked towards the slumbering family, "What if they don't want me around? Are you sure they'll like me, Jay?"

"Of course they will, Russ. Of course they will."

* * *

"No."

By instinct, Jaywhisker moved to stand in front of Russ defensively. 'What do you mean, 'no?'"

"I said we're not taking him with us," said Coalstrike, with arms crossed and a glower on his face.

Jaywhisker couldn't believe this.

Coalstrike wanted to just leave the kid here?

"Russ," he said, turning him away from the man and pointing to a playground three gates away, "Why don't you go play over there?"

When the boy had scampered out of hearing range, Jaywhisker went after Coalstrike guns blazing. "We can't just leave him here! His parents are abusive! The authorities were about to put him in a holding cell!"

"Damnit, Jay, this was never supposed to involve anyone else!"

"I know, but he's weak! I'm not sure he's even eight yet and he's been abused and abandoned."

"And what about us, Jay?" growled Coalstrike, getting in his face, "Think about everything that has happened to us and what we had to do to get to this flight. All of us almost died _twice_ to get here! We drag ourselves in here by the seats of our pants and now you want to bring a _kid_ into all this?! A kid who's, as you;ve said, been through enough suffering for a lifetime already?"

"That's exactly why we need to bring him along!" retorted Jaywhisker, "We can't just leave him like this-"

"NO." snapped Coalstrike, "Final. Answer. No."

Coalstrike turned and started to walk away, needing desperately to clear his head.

"Well, fuck you."

He froze.

"You're not my leader," shot Jaywhisker, "Why should I give a damn about what you say?"

Coalstrike was _pissed_. He rounded on him, ready to beat the kid to oblivion when he saw tht he was already gone.

He was on the moving walkway to his left, heading to the playground. When he was there, he presumably told Russ the news, and he jumped for joy, leaping into the teenager's outstretched arms.

His dreams, his nightmares played in his head over and over as he watched Jaywhisker comfort and hold the kid like his was his own brother.

His frustration mounted to the point of exhaustion, Coalstrike went to find a sports bar.

The flight wouldn't leave for another hour.

Besides, he desperately needed a drink.

* * *

"_No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!_"

"No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!"

"You sound too Southern," said the man sitting across from Fir, "You need to open up your 'o's. You make it sound like you're in a bad Western."

"Ouch. Ooh. That hurt my pride."

From behind their masks, they both smiled. "Try it again," said the man.

"_No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!_"

"No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!"

"Jesus," said the man, putting his head in his left hand, "They're not gonna be convinced if you just wake up and say you have a lisp now."

"I know, I know," said Fir, "One more time."

"_No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!_"

"No! I'm not sticking around a room of rich men with stupid cigar smoke! No thanks!"

"There we go!" said the man, relaxing, "Was that so hard?"

"Little bit," said FIr, now taking the time to slouch back in her chair and tossing her mask on the floor up into the air, "So what's my reward?"

"Oh, really? When was a reward ever a factor in this?"

"Since you convinced Sky to let you be my linguistic coach on the plane ride there," she said, smiling, "Come on now, surprise me. I know you got it in you."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm a little ill-prepared this time, but we could always do one of the classics."

"Ooh," said Fir, smirking wickedly, "I'm intrigued."

With a single motion, the man unmasked himself, revealing shaggy, very handsome black hair and kissed Fir. She would, of course, push back, maintaining the deepness and passion they loved so much.

The man pulled away. "That one's one of my favorites."

Fir smiled back, "As well as one of mine."

The two fell back in their chairs, staring into each other's eyes for a moment before the man looked away.

"I'm worried about you."

"Why's that? Don't trust me?"

"Absolutely not! It's just…" the man looked out the window of the private jet they were on, "Sky's never done Replacement Procedure before in practice. I guess I just wasn't ready for you to be the guinea pig."

"Aww, you're sweet," she said, helping the man up to his feet and hugging him tenderly, "You're cute when you're worried."

"Hmm. And when I'm not?"

"Well then you're just plain old sexy."

"Heh," said the man, running his hand through her long brown hair, "You promise you're not gonna run off with some new guy while I'm away?"

"Don't worry," said Fir, pressing her head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. "To me, you'll always be my Crow."

* * *

**I've noticed a theme here.**

**Whenever I drop a chapter I think is shit, I usually follow it up with a chapter I'm kind of confident in. This is the second time in recent memory I think this has happened.**

**But this is the end of the "Transcontinental Targets" mini-trilogy. Next chapter will be the gang landing in Forrestlake for the first time.**

**And that will be the end of Arc 0.**

**Yes, you read that right.**

**That means the real shit has yet to even begin.**

**Best,**

**~Res**

**(A/N I'm also quite sure this is the first time Jay and I have been in sync for updates. Brownie points for me! :D)**


	8. Home Away From Home

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

**HOME AWAY FROM HOME**

* * *

"_Ladies and gentleman, we are about 10 minutes away from landing in Forrestlake, so please put your seats in an upright position, stow away any personal electronic devices and lock your tray tables."_

Lazy rustling was what Dusty heard as he turned down Royce da 5' 9" on his phone and powered off his laptop, making sure to save the AJR track he was splitting into sound bits so he could jam on the trackpad when he got his new room.

The boy glanced out the window. It was a beautiful evening outside, with the sun shining majestically and brightening the glowing white city standing proudly against the horizon. A smile built at the corner of his lips. He may be hesitant to walk away from home indefinitely, but damn it if the city he was going to stay in wasn't beautiful.

He looked around at his travel mates, scattered loosely across the cabin. Jaywhisker had his arm draped around their new tiny companion, Russ was what he was introduced as, who was passed out and nestled into his left hip. Mallowleaf was now almost halfway through the dictionary-sized book she had been reading since they left Lindisfarne (It was a miracle it was even still intact, he thought). Seashell was writing a letter, likely a coded status report to the Council back home, next to Coalstrike, who had been passed out drunk since the plane crossed North Dakota. Ashtooth and Seashell were somewhere behind him, probably doing publically acceptable things a young couple would do on a plane.

Dusty pulled out his phone, sneakily turning off airplane mode prematurely, and opened his music app. He had been listening to lyrical rap for almost the last three of the six hour flight, and he felt like lightening the mood.

He opened the home menu, scrolled down to his 2,000 song playlist, and hit the button "Surprise Me!"

Post Malone came on.

Eh. Too formulaic. He did like "Hollywood's Bleeding," though.

Paramore was next.

He skipped. Wasn't really in a nostalgia mood right then and there.

NF came up third.

Reluctantly he skipped. He was one of his favorites, but he always thought a lot during his songs. Real music could wait until another day.

Whitney Houston.

Too cheesy. Skip.

Frank Carter & the Rattlesnakes.

Too punky. Skip.

Train.

Oof. Even bigger nostalgia trip. It took him a bit longer to skip them.

AJR.

He almost skipped, but "Pretender" was on. So he let it pass for now. He didn't want to get _too_ picky. Otherwise, he wouldn't listen to anything before the plane landed.

About a minute in, he got a text from Jaywhisker.

"_Got a drinking game in mind. Take a shot for every five songs you skip in an hour._'

Dusty smirked. He responded, "_Haha. Would you like me to skip the lullabies you're gonna add on to here as well?_"

He didn't text back, but he did flip him off when he glanced over to him.

They both chuckled silently as the plane touched down.

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Seashell hastily looked up from her letter. "Yes?"

"We've landed at Forrestlake," said the flight attendant, smiling pleasantly.

"Thank you," she said, folding the letter with her thumb over the seal and moving out to the aisle, which was almost empty by then.

'Excuse me, sir," Seashell heard the attendant say, "We've landed."

Just as she finished grabbing her and Coalstrike's bag, the "Excuse me"s had dissolved into "Can you hear me"s. She decided that now was a good time to step in.

"Don't worry about it," she said, sneaking in front of her, "I can wake him up."

Making room for her legs, she reared back and slapped Coalstrike in the face as hard as she could.

"AH! I HAVE YOU NOW ANAKIN! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!" shouted Coalstrike, instantly awake and sober.

"Good morning, lovely," she said sweetly, "We've landed."

"Landed? What...Oh yeah…" he said, wiping off the wooziness from his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Seashell to the flight attendant, who was obviously a bit shaken up from the whole ordeal, "Happens all the time. He's gotten used to it now."

"But…" stammered the flight attendant, "You just…"

"What?" she said, smirking, "You jealous?"

The flight attendant's alarmed expression cracked a little. "Yeah. Just a little."

Seashell chuckled as Coalstrike stumbled to his feet and grabbed the bags from her arms. "Here's a little relationship advice. You know you got a good man when you can push him around a bit. Makes life a bit more fun."

"HEY!" shouted Coalstrike, "I do not get pushed around!"

"That was a compliment, dear," she said, waving and winking to the now grinning flight attendant as they both left the plane.

However, they were stopped short of exiting the gate by Ashtooth, who looked to be very alarmed.

"What is it?" whispered Seashell.

"Lock and load," he said, gesturing to Daffodil, who was talking to a man draped in a black hoodie, black sweats and likely a black mask covering his face. "We may have an imposter on our hands."

"Jesus, more danger?" said Coalstrike, rolling his eyes, "Alright, if he's a bogey, we follow him out and I'll take him out."

Jaywhisker and Dusty, standing on Ashtooth's right, nodded, ready to move.

Second after tense second tick by, before Daffodil turned around and gave a thumbs up, visibly relaxed.

"Is he clear?" whispered Dusty.

"We're not out of the water yet," said Coalstrike, now in a complete antithetical mindset than when he woke up originally, "She might be being forced along."

So warily, they stepped into the grand, shiny concourse, bustling with the activity of a Saturday evening, and trailed the black-donning man with paranoia and tactful grace.

Blood pounded in Seashell's ears as they crossed through gates and gates of flights, through the bright exit sign saying "WELCOME TO FORRESTLAKE" in neon blue above a picture of the city, a mural depicting three fierce warriors dominating over life and limb in the thick of intense battle and the thirteen different baggage claim conveyors bustling with activity and musically accompanied by a curious child experimenting sloppily on a grand piano.

They walked out of the building, where announcements played non-stop saying to obey traffic guards at all times and denying liability for any lost items, and to a twenty-story parking garage

The man walked to the elevator complex, where one up-button press later the elevator second to the right of a set of five opened and a woman said in a luxuriously fake voice "Floor 1, Ground Floor."

"Floor 17, please," he said, speaking for the first time.

By now, Coalstrike had had enough,drawing his gun and cocking it before the man cut in.

"Jesus, you guys are trigger-happy. Can't we save this until we get to the car?"

The elevator was silent, everyone expecting someone other than them to react.

Five seconds passed.

Ten.

Finally, Coalstrike gave in, concealing the pistol in his side pocket and pressing the button for the 17th floor.

No one moved on the way up. Besides the quiet whirring of the sleek, polished elevator, one could be startled at the drop of a dime.

Finally, the elevator slowed to a stop. "Floor 17," said the female voice as the doors opened.

And so the game of cat and mouse began again. The man walked in confident, mysterious strides while the group followed, increasingly anxious and unnerved about the trap they could possibly have gotten into.

Finally, the man changed direction just slightly enough so that the group saw where they were going.

A black van.

With black-tainted windows.

And no license plate.

Now all sorts of alarms were going off in Seashell's head. One glance to Mallowleaf later and both of them were grasping their guns, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

The man reached into his pocket and unlocked the door with the key he pulled out. He walked to the driver's side, opened the door and got in, leaving the group behind.

The group stood still for a moment, completely unsure of the logistics of their situation.

"What now?" whispered Jaywhisker, whose grip on the sleeping Russ was just a little tighter.

"We get in the car," said Coalstrike, face contorted in a malicious glare, "And if he does anything suspicious or his descriptions don't add up, we blast his head to smithereens and then figure out how to get the hell out of here."

Coalstrike moved to the passenger door, opening it and gesturing for the group to get in before shutting the door ominously behind him.

Reluctantly, the rest of the group flanked to the sides of the van and piled in. Dusty and Jaywhisker carried Russ to the back of the van, locking his sleeping body in behind one of the seats, and the other four took the middle two rows, off hands gripped on their respective holsters.

Seashell closed the door, plunging the interior of the van into pitch black.

Silence. Deafening silence permeated the concealed air as if everyone that had gotten into the car had just stopped existing.

The only sound was heard a couple eternities later, it felt like, when the man pulled out his keys and started the car, an incandescent purple light strip illuminating the center console and the ceiling circling the inner perimeter of the van.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let's get this show on the road."

As if the cue line was planned, the five adults drew their guns, Coalstrike immediately thrusting the barrel at the side of the man's head.

The man froze.

"Who the hell are you?" growled Coalstrike.

Through his mask, the man laughed. "Silly me. I forgot to tell you I can't exactly be seen around this joint without getting recognized. Needed to be discreet."

The man removed his mask and put down his hood, revealing a head of ruffled, worn red-ginger hair.

Coalstrike stared at him before relaxing, slouching down in his seat and dropping his gun while gesturing for the others to do the same.

"So…" said Jaywhisker, "allow me to ask again. Who the hell are you?"

The man turned and looked at the children, his eyes now much more soft and friendly. "The name's Foxleap, gentlemen, and I'll be your proud guide through the proud lands of Forrestlake."

"Wait…" said Dusty, still wildly confused, "You..._know_ this guy after all?"

"You know when I gave you that check back in Lindisfarne?"

Dusty turned immediately to the man. "That...was _you_? You gave me-us 150 grand?"

Foxleap shrugged. "Hope ya didn't spend it all in one place, cause the term "mortgage" isn't just used in America."

Seashell groaned, still frustrated at the adrenaline that this situation caused. "Just geet us the hell outta here, would ya? We've had a long day."

"As you wish, m'lady," said Foxleap, putting the car in reverse and rolling into the exit ramp.

The van was quiet until Foxleap paid for the exit toll and pulled onto the interstate. "So…" he said, "I assume everything went smoothly for your ride here?"

The sudden, loud, hip-shattering laughter from all seven of the soldiers was enough to even stir Russ from his deep sleep.

* * *

"_Please state your name for the record._"

"Garrett McLaughlin, sir," said the bearded man handcuffed and seated on a creaky stool.

The officer adjusted his reading glasses. "_Good news, McLaughlin. Looks like someone decided to give up their life savings to get you out of here._"

"That's great news, sir. I had a feeling this day would come around."

"_So you did,_" said the officer, pushing his glasses back up his nose, "_However, due to the severity of the charges you have been convicted of, administration has decided to put you on conditional parole._"

"Makes sense," said the man, maintaining a calm, confident smirk.

"_You will not be allowed to leave the island of Forrestlake for 90 days._"

"Mmhmm."

"_The use of any and all social media will be closely monitored consistently._"

"Interesting."

"_You are banned from purchase or possession of a firearm until further notice._"

"Makes sense."

"_And you are subject to an undisclosed amounts of searches and visits by Forrestlake officials with various 30-day timespans._"

"So basically, you can search my house whenever you like?"

"_Essentially._"

"Ok."

"_You understand that any violation of your parole guidelines is grounds for additional felony charges?_"

"Yes, sir."

"_Good,_" said the officer, standing up from his desk, "_That's all. You may take him now, boys._"

And so, still handcuffed, Garrett McLaughlin was led out of the parole room and towards the entrance of Forrestlake Supermax prison.

All while keeping a confident smirk on his face.

* * *

McLaughlin walked straight to the dinged-up blue sedan near the back.

The door was unlocked for him.

He threw the two plastic bags holding his legal possessions at the time of his arrest into the backseat and hopped into the passenger seat.

He sat in silence, even with the woman sitting in the driver's seat right next to him.

The woman broke the silence.

"You need to shave."

McLaughlin chuckled, "This is the first time you've seen me in four years and the first thing you say is I need to shave."

"There's a double-blade razor in the glove compartment with shaving cream."

McLaughlin sighed, flipping down the overhead mirror and beginning to shave away his beard.

Ten minutes later, the bears was reduced to stubbles and the hair-clogged razor was in the trash.

"Much better," said the woman, looking at him for the first time with her half-blinded blue eyes, "Now, I have this for you."

She pulled out of the middle console two black masks, one much sleeker, smoother and more threatening than the other. She handed that one to the man.

"Ooh, I see you improved the design. Looks comfier, too."

When he was done admiring his new mask, the man and woman slipped them on simultaneously, as if it was a well-practiced move that they could slip out of their back pocket at any time.

"Feels good to be back," said McLaughlin, his voice distorted behind the mask as the woman put the car in gear and pulled onto the freeway.

Behind the mask, the woman smiled.

"Welcome back, Commander Garrison."

* * *

**END OF ARC 0**

* * *

**Oh my god im finally done with this arc**

**It feels good to know that I have the beginning arc finally done, setting up the main characters so that the real fun and action can begin.**

**These next few chapters, if I play my cards right, are gonna be fun.**

**Hey, I'm quarantined. what else can I possibly do now?**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	9. Reorganize

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**ARC 1 - SOCIETY OF LIARS**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**REORGANIZE**

"I've heard quite a bit about you, Dustleap."

"Please," said the boy from his chair politely, "I prefer to go by Dusty."

"Ah yes. Alright. Now I'm quite aware of the situation under which you were brought here."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't."

The older man smiled sympathetically, the shine in his glasses matching the nameplate reading "CROOKEDSTAR" at the front of his desk. "So you're entering junior year here, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I suspect you are also aware of the classes this year that are necessary for graduation next year?"

"Of course."

"Well, that's fantastic," said the man, smiling warmly, "If that is the case, then I shall submit the schedule you turned in on your transfer packet. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," said Dusty.

"Of course."

Dusty rustled through his papers when his phone vibrated. He hesitated only a moment, though, until he pulled out a sheet of papers. "I would like to be moved into the Honors class for 'Field Training.'"

Crookedstar wrote what he said on a notepad embellished with the Warriors High logo in sky blue on the top while speaking, "Yes, I think we can arrange for that. We were originally going to cut the class because of lack of interest, but I think now we have enough participants to get the green light from administration."

Geez, thought Dusty, rolling his eyes inwardly, this guy's such a suck-up.

His phone vibrated twice in his pocket again. Once again he left it alone.

"I'd also like to ask for complete historical anonymity."

Crookedstar was either thrown off by the terminology or wasn't ready for the expectations. "What do you mean?"

I can't let anyone know about my identity. If anyone with malicious intent finds out where I come from, my safety is basically completely compromised. I would prefer that the identity of me and my companions remains between you, me and the government of this island."

"Listen, Dusty, while we are sympathetic to what you've been through, to ask for full governmental protection would cost us significant funding we probably don't have. Administration is placing 90% of funding on law enforcement. I'm sure you're aware that Forrestlake just went through a full-blown riot that took weeks to clean up."

Dusty leaned forward. He clearly wasn't getting it. "Sir, the entire I applied here and not for some witness protection program is because I need to blend in. I and my family have been targeted since the bombings, and if I hide obviously, then they'll find me ten times faster."

"Dusty," said the headmaster, rubbing his eyes behind his spectacles, "ARS has been dormant since the bombings. I doubt you are in danger from them-"

Dusty stood and slammed his palm on the desk.

"_Do I need to remind you that they killed 6,000 people in a week?_"

Normally, Crookedstar knew how to deal with rebellious students acting out like this, but he didn't react. He was obviously terrified. He couldn't risk pushing him any further.

They held the other's gaze before Crookedstar picked up the phone and dialed the Capital.

Dusty relaxed in his chair and looked around the room for the first time. Around the khaki-shaded room he saw three or four vases of white flowers, obviously living and well-kept, a very nice and photogenic picture of the Forrestlake skyline just above the headmaster's head, and what looked to be two campaign photos on opposite sides of the room. On the left was a very professional and solemn picture of Crookedstar smiling gently and shaking hands with a woman with shoulder-length blue-dyed hair of equal height. She looked cold and calculating, no-nonsense and prone to inducing terror in all rooms she walked into.

The emblem read "CAMPAIGN DIRECTOR CROOKEDSTAR WITH DEPUTY-IN-WAITING CANDIDATE BLUESTAR 2016"

He looked to the right to see almost the complete opposite of the picture he just observed. In the picture on the right, Crookedstar was grinning widely and arm wrapped around his shoulder was a red-orange-colored, wildly charismatic man acting like he was at a college party.

This emblem read "CAMPAIGN DIRECTOR CROOKEDSTAR WITH DEPUTY-IN-WAITING ELECT FIRESTAR 2022"

So that's who "administration" was.

He pulled out his phone to check who was texting him, but when he saw nothing, he quickly unlocked the phone and opened his setting to "Apps Running."

He scrolled all the way down to see an app called "Safety First," an app that looked to be designed for five-year-olds, and he sighed in annoyance.

The vibrating made sense now.

"Alright," said Crookedstar, "I'll let him know."

He hung up and looked at Dusty, who straightened up and stuffed his phone away. "Firestar has agreed to alter the forms and has given an executive order to keep your identity anonymous."

"Thank you," he said, heaving a sigh of relief, "I believe that is all, then."

"Yes," said the headmaster, relieved that they wouldn't start the year on bad terms, "You are free to go."

He was halfway out the door when he stopped.

'Actually, I have one more request for you, headmaster."

"I'm all ears."

"Do you, perchance, have any music electives open for enrollment?"

Crookedstar was obviously caught off guard. "Music?"

"If there's any available."

The headmaster opened a lower drawer and pulled out a thick packet. "Let me see...Is that your phone?"

Dusty, who was trying to ignore how his phone was now vibrating consistently, abruptly pulled out his phone and held the power button until he turned it off. "Sorry about that."

Crookedstar shrugged it off, placing a list on the edge of his desk. "Here, why don't you take this home? Your schedule right now is pretty set in stone since you're transferring in, but we have plenty of after school electives for you to choose."

Dusty took the sheet and scanned it, smiling the biggest since he walked in. "Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure, Dusty," he said, shaking his hand, "Now get plenty of rest. You have school on Monday."

* * *

The most frustrating part of Jaywhisker's life is that nobody appreciated his genius enough.

Most of the time, everyone _argued_ about it.

That's exactly what he walked into that morning. After pulling an all-nighter working on his Bedwars winstreak in Minecraft ("I'm coming for you, Technoblade" was his motto), he walked in at around 10 that morning to see Coalstrike and Ashtooth in a heated argument about his phone voice tracker.

"Don't you see? He snuck something in there to tell him we're listening! We need to start making sure his trackers are undetectable!"

"Jesus, man! The kid's paranoid enough! Can you at least give him some freedom?"

"Oh yes! Absolutely! When we've finally won this goddamn war!"

"Why do you keep tracking him, anyway? You two already don't get along! Are you trying to make it worse?"

"I'm saying that ARS could be anywhere! Have you read about this place? Not _two years ago_ there was an active terrorist group here!"

"That was two years ago! The authorities got them! Why can't you trust the authorities at least a little bit?!"

"Remember the last time we all did that?"

Ashtooth threw his arms in the air. "Fine! Fuck America! They're a society of stuck-up cowards! That's what you always say, isn't it? THIS ISN'T AMERICA! Can you try to at least trust that they'll do good work?!"

"No."

"Oh, for God's sake...why not?!"

Coalstrike's arms were crossed. "The last time I did, over 6,000 people died."

"That doesn't mean it'll happen again!"

"How do you know?"

"You're being WAY too cynical!"

"And you're being WAY too trusting."

Now Jaywhisker rolled his eyes. This was all they seemingly argued about: combat plans, his inventions and how much they should hate America.

They were polar opposites. It was a wonder how they could bother living with each other in the same house.

"'Safety First?'"

The argument fizzled out when everyone turned to the entrance hall to see Dusty leaning on the column, his arms crossed and his mouth contorted into an amused smirk. "Couldn't you have picked a more inconspicuous name if you're so bent on tracking everything I say?"

Silently, the two broke apart and took a seat on opposite couches in the huge living room.

"So," he said after taking a energy drink from the almost empty mini fridge, "You were chattering up a storm when I asked for a music elective."

Ashtooth was obviously caught off guard. "How did you-"

"I figured that you would arrange for a tracking device of some sort, so when you added in on my phone, I asked Jaywhisker to have it vibrate whenever you speak when you're listening in."

Coalstrike stood up to find that Jaywhisker had made the smart choice to run and hide in the basement.

Usually, Dusty would be mad, but he looked exhausted as he downed half of his drink in one gulp. "Are you physically unable to trust me? Do you need a doctor to look at you?"

"Geez, sarcasm much?" said Ashtooth, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about you," he said to Ashtooth.

He got up and stood in front of Coalstrike, who had sat back down by now.

"We're family," he growled, "We've been through the worst pains God has thrown at us. So why won't you trust me?"

Coalstrike's face scrunched up, screaming a statement he clearly didn't want anyone to hear, before he got up and walked up the stairs to his room.

So by now, you're wondering about where they are, right?

Absolute no one was expecting Foxleap to drive them to a massive three story mansion on a mountain overlooking Forrestlake. And he sure wasn't expecting them to have mixed reactions of concern to mind-blowing fury of them essentially living with a fat target on their roof.

(Guess who that last one was)

After preventing Coalstrike from ripping apart the poor redhead limb from limb (Foxleap used the reasoning of unsuspecting a mansion for the hideout of the soldiers used to hiding), he gave them the grand tour, which included spacious bedrooms, a beautiful view from the top floor windows, and, probably most important to the war-tested inhabitants, a shelter-in-place lockdown security system, a massive armory hidden behind the back oven wall ("Hopefully," he had joked, "You're not waiting on your meat lovers pizza when you're ambushed.") and a huge control room set up in the basement, which had its own remote controlled door (Jaywhisker called dibs the moment he saw the eight 58" monitors while everyone else wondered how this man could possibly have half of America's national debt in cash at his own disposal). They decided on sleeping arrangements, with Jaywhisker staking out in the "Foxcave 2.0" (Good Lord, was this guy pretentious), The adults and Russetleap taking the three bedrooms on the second floor, and Dusty getting the biggest room on the top floor, which, as Foxleap hinted to, also had an emergency escape route.

Seeing that he was elected there by Coalstrike immediately after he heard about that only confirmed his sparse lack of trust, at least that's how he thought of it.

But for now, until school started for Dusty, Jay and little Russ, they just chilled, trying to relax for the first time in almost forever.

Chill meaning that Seashell and Mallowleaf were doing pacer laps up and down the sidewalk up and down the mountain, about a mile distance with their guns armed and ready if things got ugly, Daffodil was throwing knives on the top floor landing and Coalstrike was probably taking his frustrations out on a punching bag he ordered the day before.

Sheesh. This family needed a vacation. Always in some state of organization and reorganization.

"Do you think ARS will get us here?" asked Dusty, sitting next to Ashtooth.

"Who knows?" said Ashtooth, twirling his gray pistol in his right hand while sipping the hard cider in his left, "It's always a matter of 'when' when it comes to them. We just need to be as prepared as we can be when it comes to them."

* * *

In one of the several alleyways in the grand city of Forrestlake, a girl with light blue tipped hair stared at her phone, praying that the person he was calling would pick up.

"_Hello,_" said the man, in a very fake, very bad English accent, "_You've probably reached the wrong number, but if you know who this is, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can._"

The girl smiled and put the phone to her ear. "Hey Jack, it's me. I hope you're doing well."

She sighed. "Today was a pretty good day. Everyone seems to be holding up okay. Jayfeather's as grumpy as ever, Ivypool's still trying to get over being the bridesmaid for Dovewing's wedding, and Foxleap's just been a hermit like always. Come upstairs twice a day, grab a six-pack of beer and disappear," she chuckled, "We can all just pray he's being productive."

She sighed heavily. She wasn't supposed to run out of things to say this quickly.

"I miss you, J. I miss you every day. When you get this, please call. I wanna talk to you again."

Her shoulders slumped. "I love you. See you soon."

She hung up.

She scrolled through her call history aside from the occasional call from her brother, there stood 104 calls to one Jack Graves. Twice a day, every day, no response.

Her heart felt hollow as she when to the home menu and opened her phone assistant.

"_Hello, Icecloud. How can I help you today?_"

Icecloud held the bottom of her phone to her mouth. "Find directions to 'Graystripe's Diner.'"

"_Ok. Starting route to Graystripe's Diner."_

She was about to depart when she froze.

She turned her phone off and put it in her pocket.

She listened.

She heard a rustle.

Another.

And she roundhoused around and landed a blow in her stalker's gut, expelling the air out of him and making him drop the chloroform-soaked cloth in his hand. She whipped forward, grabbing his right hand with her own right hand and sending him belly first into the pavement hard, restraining his wrists and stamping on his upper back.

"What the hell do you want?" growled Icecloud, "Who are you?"

The man groaned, making eye contact with her and showing the pain in his eyes.

And then he smiled.

"A distraction."

She barely had time to react when she felt the taser dart pierce the back of her neck, shaking her off and sending her to her knees with a scream.

The man got up quickly, retrieving the cloth and stuffing it in front of her mouth and nose.

She had no chance to fight.

Icecloud was unconscious before she hit the ground.

* * *

**Why not start the real shit with a legit cliffhanger?**

**Heheh.**

**Next chapter, the crew start school! Plus maybe an interaction between the soldiers and the Three. I don't know yet. We'll see.**

**Oh, and be a bit concerned about Icecloud while you're at it. I'm boutta go all evil genius on her. Y'all have no idea.**

**And she absolutely won't be the first.**

**Brace yourselves. A storm is coming.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	10. Bargains and Substitutions

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**BARGAINS AND SUBSTITUTIONS**

* * *

"You excited for your first day of school, Russ?"

"No!" he said, crossing his arms in an overdone pout.

Jaywhisker sent a pleading gaze to Dusty, who just shrugged, returning a look saying _'You brought this guy along, you figure out how to bond with him.'_

The boy sighed. Despite how easily he wooed Russ into joining them, he had shut down, staying in his room for most of the day and only coming out for a small breakfast and dinner. It was almost as if he was practicing to be a moody teen.

Strange. He was expecting to be fending this little guy away from sticking his cute little nose into all of his "work," but all the interest he had in him was just gone. He felt disappointed like he lost a relationship he never truly put his mind to.

So here he was. Trying desperately to make a connection with the kid he yelled at Coalstrike to bring along.

"Why?" he asked Russ, "What's wrong?"

"School is stupid!"

"Why is school stupid?"

"Because it _is_!"

"Oh my God," he muttered, putting his head in his hands. There was no hope that those two would get along now, he was sure.

"Hey Russ," said Dusty, reaching into his pocket, "Do you know how to flip a coin?"

The boy raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Dusty pulled out a quarter and flipped it in the air, letting it fall into the palm of his right hand before slapping onto the back of his left. "Here, wanna try it?"

Russ was immediately interested, holding out his hand. Dusty made it a fist, sticking his thumb under his index finger and placing the quarter gingerly on the top of his hand. "Now," he said, "jut your thumb up like you're giving me a thumbs-up as fast as you can."

Russ tried to, but his finger stopped midway and the coin slid back over his wrist and down his arm, where Dusty snatched it up before it could fall between the car seats of the van they were sitting in on their way to school. "Try to be a bit faster, then the coin will go straight up."

After three tries, Russ flipped the coin straight up and caught it just as it was falling, grinning to himself that he mastered the nifty trick so quickly.

"You wanna hear a fun fact about coins, Russ?" said Jaywhisker, seizing a wide-open opportunity.

The boy shrugged. "Sure."

He grabbed the coin from the boy's open palm. "So you know how a coin has two sides, right? Well, by the laws of statistics and probability, if you flip a coin one hundred times, theoretically the coin should land on heads fifty times and tails fifty times. No matter how many more you may have of heads than tails, it'll always even out in the end."

Russ raised an eyebrow. "Really? Does that happen every time?"

"Well, not exactly," said Jaywhisker, "Doesn't happen every 100 flips. Hell, it may not happen every 500 flips. But no matter what, there exists a point where you've flipped a coin enough times that you will have seen both sides an equal amount of times. The most expensive sign," Jaywhisker flipped the coin so it landed in Russ's palm, "of perfect balance and equality."

Now Russ was invested in this philosophy that he started flipping the coin over and over, likely making mental notes on how it landed. Jaywhisker leaned back in his seat, flashing a smug, victorious smirk at Dusty, who shrugged and smiled back.

"You're welcome" was all he said.

"Really?" said Jaywhisker, shoving him in his car seat across from Russ, "No 'congratulations?' No 'not bad, Jay?'"

"Let's be honest here. You wouldn't have come up with the coin flipping by yourself even if you tried."

"Oh, so that's how we're gonna play now, eh?" growled Jaywhisker playfully.

"I swear, you're just as much a suck-up as that Foxleap guy! You two should move in together! He calls his coop the Foxcave, and you call yours the...Bluebird's Coop?"

"_Nest,_" corrected Jaywhisker, "'Bluebird's Nest.'"

From the driver's seat, Ashtooth burst into laughter. "_That's_ what you call it? What did you do, put your name through a random name generator for your treehouse?"

Dusty laughed the hardest he had in weeks while Jaywhisker, pointed at him threateningly. "You have no say in this conversation."

"I'm just saying. It's like you're fighting an otherworldly being only to find out your mothers have the same name."

"Okay," said Jaywhisker, throwing his hands up, "I'm getting targeted now. Why am I the only one to like that movie?"

"Cause the DC Universe is trash!" shot back Dusty, smiling wickedly, "Name a good movie they've made since the Wonder Woman movies and the Dark Knight trilogy."

Jaywhisker opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and closed it again. Dusty threw his arms up in victory. "Yes! Marvel reigns supreme!"

"Oh really?" he said, rolling his eyes, "You just like them cause Chris Evans is your celebrity crush."

"So what? Did you see that beard he had in Infinity War? Just that makes me wish he was kicking ass and saving the world."

"Well then, we'd be out of a job, Dusty," said Ashtooth, looking back at him as he pulled into the parking lot of Forrestlake Elementary, "And I can say from experience that it's no fun."

"Really?"

"Story for another day, Dusty," he said, parking the car, "Alright, have a good first day, Russetleap!"

Russ was actively trying to keep track of how many times the coin had landed heads and tails as he got out, grabbed his bag and walked up to the stout two-story white building without a word.

That suddenly quiet vibe carried over the ten-minute drive to the high school, where Ashtooth waved as they walked up to the new building.

"So," said Jaywhisker, "Is the reason you like Chris Evans more is that he's been in the best Marvel movies?"

"Uh…"

"GOOOLD DIGGER!" shouted Jaywhisker in his ear, after which Dusty pushed him away, grinning widely.

"So since you're so persistent on this topic, who's your celebrity crush?"

"Fuck off. See you after school."

Dusty chuckled to himself. It was nice to have a banter like this that didn't involve war.

* * *

"This is a horrible idea."

"Well, you're nothing without your guts, aren't you, commander?" said the woman as they walked through a crowded warehouse area, people bustling to do various tasks left and right.

"Do you realize what you're getting into?" responded the man, "You saw how he was today! He summoned armor out of thin air! He's a _fucking god_!"

"With a flair for the 14th century as well," responded the woman dryly as she led the man to a private room and locked the door behind her.

When the commander had settled in, the woman pulled out a slip of paper with a distorted sine curve printed in worn black toner. "We've found his bargaining chip."

The commander stared at the graph.

This was not a normal graph.

This was a radioactivity tracker.

"A nuclear bomb?"

"Or some sort of dirty bomb," said the woman.

"Cool story, Sky," said the commander, "but what are you going to do with that information?"

"Quite simple, Commander Garrison. We're going to steal it."

"I...ah- WHAT?!" he shouted.

"We have the general location of the bomb. All we need to do is seduce our new friend with some more weapons. You saw how he looked at our original stash."

"Great!" said Garrison, throwing his hands in the air, "Awesome! I love this plan! Except for one thing…Rock is a _literal god_. You think stealing a bomb would scare him? You've literally gone crazy. We can't do this plan. Too much of our army is at risk."

"It's not about threatening him…"

Sky unlocked the door to show Garrison a U-Haul, with three black-covered men carrying a garbage bag carefully.

The commander's eyes widened when he noticed the eerily human object in the bag.

"It's about threatening his targets."

A smile built at Garrison's mouth.

"You never cease to amaze me, Captain."

"No, I don't. Do me a favor and make sure the guards don't have _too_ much fun with her."

"Oh God."

Garrison followed the men carrying the bag, trying to ignore the very obvious catcalls as they moved her to the holding cells.

They had a way with women he didn't really like anymore.

* * *

It was 3:07 AM.

Fir sat in a car, ignition off, lights off as a white sedan pulled up across the street. Crow hopped out the back carrying a plastic bag with the clothes she would need, freshly washed.

"You ready?" he asked.

"No. Help me change," she said, taking off her shirt and turning around.

"Hun, you'll do just fine," he said, undoing her bra and helping adjust the new one, "You're one of the best. They'll have no idea."

"It's just...I'm worried, Crow," said Fir, changing her pants and underwear while Crow looked away modestly, "There's so many things that could go wrong. I could get killed in there and you wouldn't know!"

"That's not gonna happen," he said, holding her light-blue-tipped hair as she put her shirt on, "Listen, if you're worried or are having problems, give me a call. If you can get out of the house, we can just talk. I'm not going anywhere."

After taking a few deep breaths, she looked up at Crow and smiled. "Thank you."

He planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll always be here for you. Now go."

Fir squeezed her lover's hands a couple moments more before she broke away, crossing the street and heading to the east wall of the mansion. Using a rope that her team had planted in a bush hours ago, she flung the noose up to a corner of the balcony barrier and worked herself up, keeping her eyes and ears open for any intruders.

Five minutes later and she stood on the balcony. She wrapped up the rope, flung it into the property-lining foliage and pulled a paper clip out from her back pocket as she snuck to the sliding glass door. After another three minutes of jiggling, the paper clip slid in, allowing her to turn it and unlock the door.

She snuck through the quiet house, past the huge kitchen and living room and up a flight of stairs to her bedroom, which was thankfully unlocked.

She spared one last look outside, making sure she wasn't being watched, before flopping down on her new bed, letting out a huge sigh.

This was her home now. Replacement Procedure had gone perfectly so far.

And if she made the right steps, no one in the house would even know it.

* * *

**LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS STORY IS OFFICIALLY IN CONJUNCTION WITH "WARRIORS: THE NEW ERA."**

**Well, not exactly. But if you read the most recent chapter, you know that Sky made an alliance with Rock. Now we go into a series of mindgames about how one side's gonna try and outsmart the other.**

**Just like old times.**

**This was mainly an ARS-focused chapter, but next chapter is all Dusty. He meets a couple people of note, and one of them may be a bit more special than the others...You'll see.**

**Also, don't be alarmed if you start seeing trigger warnings. That means everything is going according to plan...**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	11. Mind Games (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**MIND GAMES**

* * *

**WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS LANGUAGE SOME MAY FIND OFFENSIVE. THIS LANGUAGE HAS BEEN CENSORED, IS USED ONLY FOR THE PURPOSES OF CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND DOES NOT REFLECT THE VIEWS OF THE WRITER IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM**

* * *

On the second day of school, Dusty and Jaywhisker were engaged in Netflix-esque high school banter.

"I know! But I swear that was directed at me! She gave me the sweetest smile, too!"

"Cool your jets, buddy," said Dusty, "She was probably looking for the guy on your left. You don't even know her name!"  
"Mmhmm...you're jealous," said Jaywhisker, smiling widely.

"Jealous?! ME?!" snapped Dusty, very obviously jealous, "Why would I be jealous of_ you_?! You're a walking hermit with chronic insomnia!"

"Does anyone have a crush on you?"

Dusty's fight fizzled out. In a rare turn of events, Jaywhisker had won an argument. And he clearly wasn't off his high horse yet.

"Shazam, Lego Batman, Aquaman and Man of Steel."

"What?"

"In response to your question yesterday," fired Jaywhisker, "Those are the good DC movies."

"Sweet Jesus. This again?"

"Bitch, I'm on a roll!"

"Okay," said Dusty, straightening up as they walked down the main hallway to lunch, "Shazam was good, I forgot about that one, Lego Batman was funny but it doesn't count since it's more of a Lego movie than a DC movie, Man of Steel was fine, but the original Superman was better and Aquaman is a plotless piece of trash with interesting fight scenes and a sexy lead."

The response was so smooth that it completely killed Jaywhisker's power trip.

"Well, we can at least agree on one thing. Say it with me."

They looked at each other and breathed in, "_Heath Ledger played the greatest villain in cinema history._"

They high-fived, clearly wanting to put this away, before they saw the student dressed in all black with a bulky blue backpack stumble and collapse against the wall, sliding down and holding his throat.

"What the hell?" said Jaywhisker, who quickly followed Dusty as he ran over to help.

"Everything okay?" he said to the brown-haired kid, "Are you choking?"

"Back...pack…mask…" he gasped, his face growing redder by the second.

Jaywhisker ripped open his backpack and did a double take when he saw what was inside.

It was a full breathing apparatus, with a mask connected to a large oxygen tank through a laxative breathing tube. He caught his breath, fumbled in the bag and grabbed the mask, holding it by the outside. Dusty wrapped the mask on quickly, his heart now pounding in his chest.

"Get the valve!" he ordered Jaywhisker.

"Which one?"

"What do you mean which one?!"

"There are two valves!"

"WELL, TURN THE RED ONE!"

"THEY'RE BOTH RED!"

"WELL THEN, TURN THE ONE AT THE NOZZLE!"

Jaywhisker saw what he was talking about, and turned the nozzle. A hissing noise emerged from the tank and the mask around the boy's face clouded up with air.

Both stepped away, unsure of what to do now.

"Is he okay?" said Jaywhisker, eyes wide.

Dusty watched very carefully, holding his breath for about a full minute before he crouched down and pressed a finger to his neck.

He went cold.

"He's unconscious," he said, "Call 911! Now!"

Jaywhisker jumped, pulling out his phone and dialing quickly while Dusty turned the boy on his back. He remembered Daffodil telling him how to do CPR in one of the introductory classes back on Lindisfarne. He wrapped his right hand around his open left, placed his hands on the boy's chest and pressed as hard and as consistently as he could.

"_One, two, three…_" he whispered to himself as Jaywhisker stuttered the situation to authorities, "_Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…_"

* * *

"Not even a week into school and you're already getting arrested."

"Har har," said Dusty, climbing into the backseat of Ashtooth's new van with Jaywhisker right behind him.

"So what the hell happened?" said Ashtooth, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the station, "The school called home and said that they went into shelter in place. Everyone thought that you had to school some bully."

"I wish," said Dusty, "We were walking to lunch when we saw this kid faint. Authorities said he has severe cystic fibrosis and has fits of losing breath. He had an oxygen tank in his backpack and everything."

"So he fainted and you resuscitated him. Why did that require a trip to the station?"

"Well," said Dusty, glancing guiltily at Jaywhisker, who looked miserable, "There was two valves on the tank, one for oxygen and one for carbon dioxide disposal. The problem was the valves were both colored red, so we...accidentally…"

"You made him inhale carbon dioxide instead."

"Yeah."

"Damn. That'll do it."

The car was silent as Ashtooth pulled onto the freeway, lit only by overhead lights against the night sky. Dusty kept glancing at his friend, who just stared meekly at his clasped hands.

"You good?" asked Dusty, wrapping his arm around him.

Jaywhisker said nothing.

"In your defense, Jay, I'm not sure how the hell they got away from configuring a tank for emergency use with two red valves when one can _literally kill you_. I'm more surprised how they can separate the two and only dispense one. Must be some newfangled chemistry breakthrough that no one's ever heard of.

Jaywhisker remained silent.

Dusty and Ashtooth exchanged a worried glance. They had never seen this side of Jaywhisker before. Usually he was flamboyantly egotistical and witty. Not...silent.

Midway through their drive through the interstate, Ashtooth got off early.

"Where we going?" asked Dusty.

"I gotta make a stop at a bar. We're low on beer and Coalstrike will get in a bad mood if we run out."

Dusty nodded. Jaywhisker remained silent.

As they drove through dimly lit residential areas, a political advocacy billboard caught Dusty's eye.

"STOP POISONING OUR CHILDREN: VOTE TO BRING BAR ADMISSION UP TO 21"

"Up to 21?" muttered Dusty.

"What?" said Ashtooth, glancing back.

"What's the minimum age of admission to a bar here?"

"Sixteen," was the immediate answer.

Dusty's eyes widened in interest.

"You can't buy any alcoholic drinks, though. The only reason they lowered the age limit in the first place is cause the bar business was suffering."

"Interesting…" said Dusty, rubbing his chin pointedly, "Very interesting…"

Ashtooth sighed, knowing the question he was about to ask. "_Fine_. But for now, just this once. You can't get tipsy or tell anyone or I'll be kicked out of the family."

"Fine…"

Now Jaywhisker looked up, giving Dusty a very strange look. "Since when did you want to go into a bar?"

Dusty shrugged. "Cause I've never been in one before. Plus, he's the most exploitable one in our family."

"On second thought," said Ashtooth, suddenly moving into the turn lane a block away from the bar, "The beer can wait for another day."

"NONONOIWASKIDDING!" shouted Dusty, to which Jaywhisker couldn't help but crack a smile.

* * *

"Why don't you get a seat?" said Ashtooth, headed to the liquor store connected to the bar, "I'll be back soon with the drinks."

Dusty sat in a booth amid the blacklight aura of the bar, noticing a neon pink sign advertising a karaoke night at the bar every Friday.

_Oh God…_

As a bright mind with perfect pitch and a nitpicky ear, this was his worst nightmare. It would take over his mind and be the only thing he could think of, criticizing just the smallest thing that they were doing wrong, whether it be tone, pitch or rhythm. Simply, he would become an automated critic. It took perfection to snap him out of it.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," said the man behind a laptop that looked to be running the show, "Let's get this show on the road! Who wants to slay this mic first?"

"Get the bartender!" shouted someone in the back.

"Ooh," said the host, now in game show host mode, "We have a vote for the lovely bartender! Any seconds? Any challengers to his greatness!"

"Bring the bartender!"

"Get 'em up here!"

"Come on, mate!"

The consensus was clear. This guy was clearly something special, though Dusty kept his expectations low for the moment.

"Y'all asked for him! Axis!"

"Okay, fine. Since you asked nicely!"

From behind the bartender stand emerged a guy that looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, with ruffled brown hair, worn gray shoes and chiseled abs just visible under the sweat-drenched t-shirt that co-starred his tight denim shorts.

In a word, he was handsome.

No, he was _very handsome_.

Dusty had to physically force his gaze away from the boy as he walked confidently to the host amid the cheers and drunk rallies of the crowd. He stood next to the man as he turned on the screen next to him and pulled up the karaoke program.

"So what'll it be tonight?"

"Palace. Sam Smith."

_That_ caught Dusty's attention. It was one of the most coveted pieces from his second album, which just happened to be one of Dusty's favorite albums to listen to. Someone really needed guts to even deserve to touch that work. Out of worry of roasting the poor boy to death in his mind for polluting one of his favorite works, he almost got up and walked to the bathroom.

He decided to have mercy, intrigue beating out his narcissism as he closed his eyes and listened as the guitar began.

_My head is filled with ruins,_

_Most of them are built with you,_

_Now the dust no longer move,_

_Don't disturb the ghost of you..._

Perfection.

Flawless.

It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Dusty opened his eyes to see the boy singing into the mic like he was singing to his own child, with such elegance, vibrato and beauty. Almost like he was painting a picture so delicate and intricate that just the slightest screw-up would cause it to all fall down.

He was losing his self-control just listening, tears building at the corners of his eyes as he hit the high notes with such practiced lightness and richness.

_I...I'm gonna miss you,_

_I...I'm still there…_

He was losing awareness of his surroundings, feeling like he was singing to a grand concert hall and he was the only one in the audience. The drunken murmurs of the crowd were nothing more than background as he was pulled along through this majestic melody.

Was it perfection?

A gift from God itself?

Whatever it was, his body told him it was heaven.

After just under three and a half minutes, Axis ended the song with grace. The bar roared in applause and cheering, to which the young bartender smiled sheepishly and said "Thank you very much" modestly.

Dusty caught his breath, regaining his composure as the handsome boy walked back behind the bar. All instinct told him to run and hide now after making a fool of himself after his performance, but his mind wanted one thing while his feet did another.

"How can I help you?" said the bartender, cleaning out a cup with a damp washcloth.

"Uhh...Do you have Arnie Palmers?"

"50/50?"

"Y-Yes, please."

Axis seemed to raise an eyebrow before moving to the soda machine. Dusty hissed at himself as he filled his drink, frustrated that he was suddenly a stuttery mess. He looked away as Axis placed the drink in front of him, not noticing how he had bent of from the other side of the table to stare at him with a smirk.

"So," he said after a few beats, "Why are you really here?"

Dusty tried to look witty. "What, is it a sin to ask for a drink?"

"No, just a commonality among our own little community of sinners."

"Really? That cliche?"

"Is it a sin?"

"Almost," he said, "It's used so much it's like this place is a satanist rally. Clearly that ain't the case."

"I've been here long enough to see the pattern, though. You wanna forget, you drink. Could it be possible that you wanna hide the number I did on you?"

"Woah there, bucko," said Dusty, "We just met."

"Just sayin'," said Axis, throwing up his arms, "Hard to ignore you tearing up in the back on stage. I played you like a damn fiddle there."

"What can I say? C#5's tend to impress me."

"Aha, a smart one, I see."

Dusty kicked it up a notch. "With a subtle trick for flattery. Why, since you already have the keys to my heart, I seem to be at your mercy."

"But it's like you said," said Axis, "We only just met."

"Is it a sin?"

"That's up to God to decide, isn't it?"

Their faces were inches away.

"_Hey f****t!_"

Whatever flirtatious groove they had caught themselves in, they were out of it now. Axis sighed, rolling his eyes, while Dusty boiled in sudden, unrestrained fury. "What?!" shouted the bartender more in irritation than anger.

"_Get me a refill! And make it quick t***kie!"_

Axis sighed and nonchalantly moved away to get the drink.

Dusty watched in trepid horror. That man just used the worst homophobic slurs out there and he was just shrugging it off?!

The man, a fat shortie with no hair and a goatee, was sitting down across the bar, very obviously tipsy and edging for someone to challenge him. Dusty was about to take him up on that offer, rolling up his hoodie sleeves and rearing back his fists to throw the biggest punch of his life.

"Eat shit, motherfu-!"

He was backhanded in the face, causing the hit to miss and him to stumble away from the bar.

He looked up to see Axis handing him his drink and walking away. "What the hell was that?!" he snapped at him, "He just called you a f****t! You just weren't gonna do anything about that?!"

"Eh, same guy comes here twice a week. Goes all Wyoming truck driver whenever he gets drunk, so I just give him the strong stuff till he passes out and the cops pick him up."

"Wait...really?"

Axis shrugged. "We all come here to deal with our sins. I tend to deal petty revenge."

Dusty let out a couple chuckles as he drained his drink. He liked this guy.

"Alright," said Ashtooth, emerging from the store with five boxes of whiskey and beer, "Let's get moving."

"Nice to meet you," said Dusty, the tone between the two changing to friendly for the first time.

"Same here. Did I get your name?"

"Call me Dusty."

"Call me Axis."

They took the other's hands, making a shake that was more like a squeezing of the others for a good four seconds.

"Drop by again if you need some penance."

"Heheh. Maybe I will."

"See ya around."

"See you."

Dusty and Ashtooth got up to leave the bar while Axis turned around and clean the bar.

"He's weird," Axis heard Ashtooth whisper to Dusty quite loudly.

Axis smiled. He liked this boy.

And as he was turning around and grabbing the discarded cups, he saw a bill under the one Dusty had been drinking from.

He picked it up and almost gasped.

It was a hundred.

And as he checked to see if it was legit, he saw a phone number on the back.

Axis smirked.

Whatever game he was forcing him through, he sure knew how to play.

* * *

"Captain!" said someone on Sky's headpiece.

"What is it?" she said, listening in.

"We were just checking on the vital sign readers on the bomb guards!"

Something tingled in Sky's veins. Not fear...more like anticipation. "And?"

"Nothing! They've gone flat!"

Sky scowled.

_So that's how we're going to play now._

Sky stormed up to the control room, where anxious black-masked figures ran back and forth between monitors and typing commands.

On the screen were thirty vital readings. Twelve sequential screens showed flatlines.

"What the hell happened?" she said to a woman in the front row.

"I-I don't know! They just started spiking irregularly all at once and then...they were gone!"

"HOLY SHIT!" shouted a man in the back, "LOOK!"

Everyone looked up to see the flatlines suddenly restored with life, beating regularly as if nothing happened.

_"They're okay?!"_

_"What happened?!"_

_"Was it a glitch?!"_

Sky said nothing and stepped away, deep in thought.

Seconds later, she had a plan.

"Commander Garrison?" she said, turning on her headpiece.

"_Yes, Captain?_"

"Meet me in my office in three minutes."

* * *

"Alright," said Garrison from behind his mask as he hit the side of the van, "Let's move!"

Twenty men stepped out from the back of the van, covered in black and armed to the teeth. They lined up in front and stood at attention in front of the commander.

"Those of you I have not talked to, you know your assignments. You are free to go."

Twelve of them ran off. Only eight of them remained.

"You eight are my most intuitive and skilled of the bunch today. You will be replacing eight of the twelve I sent to guard the bombs. Follow me."

The nine of them set off and were almost at the passage to the bomb site when they were stopped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Bone.

"General Bone, we are doing a partial relieving, per order of Captain Sky."

"I cannot allow you to do that, Commander." said the burly man.

"And why not?"

"I do not believe you have run it by Rock."

"I apologize, general," said the commander, "but I do not believe running every move we make by your superior was in the deal."

"Regardless," said Bone, grabbing the handle of his gun, "I cannot let you pass until you have run this by Rock."

Garrison straightened up.

"Oh, I see how this is."

And he drew his gun. Bone drew his and aimed at Garrison's head.

But Garrison did not aim at Bone.

He instead aimed at a crate labeled "RPG AMMO."

"BLUE-52!" shouted one of the soldiers flanking Garrison as loud as she could, "BLUE-52!"

All eight soldiers drew their guns and aimed at Bone.

And everything in the warehouse base stopped.

And Bone looked around to see that every single ARS soldier had stopped and drawn their guns and aimed at one of Rock's goons.

And just like that, Garrison had upper hand.

"So, General," said the commander, "Are you relinquishing our alliance?"

Bone held his ground…

...for only a couple more moments, before stepping aside and letting them pass.

"AT EASE!" shouted the commander, causing everyone in the warehouse to relinquish their guns and continue on with their day like nothing happened.

"Thank you, General," said Garrison, flashing an unseen smirk before he pursued into the tunnels.

Fifteen minutes later, Garrison was driving the black van in the vague direction of home base, with eight of the twelve alive and well soldiers in the pitch black back.

He needed to make sure that he was meticulous of the spot he chose. It would need to be quick, but he needed to go off the grid.

So while staying in the general direction, he drove to the edge of Forrestlake, eyeing the stop light at the end of the avenue cut off by an adjacent forest.

So he drove to the light, stopped at the red, and just as traffic on the crossroad moved, he stopped the car and got out, making sure to lock the door behind him.

He kept his head down as he jaywalked to the sidewalk on his left, going a block away before pulling away to an alley.

He pulled out a remote control and without a second thought, he pressed the red button in the middle.

**BOOM!**

He heard the explosion behind him, and it took just a glance and the hearing of screams to know that the block of C4 under the car had blown like planned. Wasting no time, he used the disruption of traffic to bolt into the forest.

He ran for about half a mile before he stopped and pulled out his phone, opening his messages app. There was no record of any texts when he opened it.

He started a group chat, using the phone numbers of the eight soldiers he brought to the bomb site.

"The four guards I kept on duty are traitors. Execute them with extreme prejudice."

He sent the text.

He sighed in relief. Truthfully, he didn't know if they betrayed him, but this would tie up all possible loose ends Rock had made.

* * *

Rock heard gunshots down the tunnel to the bombs.

_**NO!**_

He stormed down the tunnel, summoning his armor and his lightning to find…

...eight corpses, and four of his revenants wounded, but still standing.

The god picked up one of the dead men's rifles and growled, allowing the gun to melt in his hands and burn on the cave floor.

Clearly, ARS would need to be handled with much more prejudice than he thought.

* * *

**So. A lot to unpack.**

**I know I said I would introduce two characters this chapter, and I did, but you don't know the first's name yet. I'll come back to it. I'm a big believer in Chekhov's Gun after all.**

**Dusty and Axis are now a thing. Please begin shipping them right away so the horrible things I do to one of them make you even sadder.**

**And ARS and Rock are in some mind games now. It's a game of chess between Jay and I. Sometime in the next two chapters, he'll make his move and I'll respond with mine.**

**But last chapter was just under 2,000 words. I figured a longer one was what you deserve.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	12. Trauma (Part I)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

**TRAUMA (PART I)**

* * *

"_Look at you."_

_Seashell was quivering on the ground, holding her exposed, bleeding stomach and groaning, crying in pain._

"_You really thought you were strong, did you?"_

"_Please…" rasped Seashell, "Don't...don't do this…"_

"_What's stopping me?"_

_Seashell reached forward for something to grab, but found nothing._

"_Your brother couldn't save you."_

_Her blood now seemed to douse her quivering body._

"_Your boyfriend couldn't save you."_

_Seashell felt her sobs and breaths more and more shallow and weak._

"_And you couldn't save yourself even if you wanted to."_

_Seashell felt the barrel of the gun against the side of her head._

"_Say your prayers, you bitch."_

_She heard the click of the gun being loaded._

"_It's judgement day."_

"_NO!"_

_**BANG!**_

Seashell was awake at once, sitting up in bed with her eyes wet and her heart beating as if she had run a marathon.

"Hey, hey hey," said Coalstrike, sitting up next to her as well and squeezing her hand, "Deep breaths. Deep breaths."

After a good fifteen seconds, Seashell wiped her eyes and flopped back down onto the mattress, trying to calm herself down while Coalstrike wrapped her in a big hug, nestling his head into her neck.

"Was it the nightmare?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"It's been a while since you've had it.'

"I don't know what triggered it."

"Do you want to take-"

"No," said Seashell automatically, "I'll get over it."

The couple lay in silence for a couple moments.

"What time is it?"

"Five minutes to three."

"Shit."

"You wanna try sleeping again?"

"No. Let's take a walk."

The couple got up, stretched and bundled up in sweats and hoodies. They snuck downstairs, took one of the extra keys next to the knives in the silverware drawer and headed out. They walked down their street for a while, holding hands tightly before they turned and walked to the park about a mile away. It had rained earlier that evening, and the air was thick and wet with mist and fog.

After another ten minutes of walking, they found a bench and sat down, the only light illuminating their surroundings being the sole headlight to their right covering a large section of the park in faded, orange ambiance.

Seashell leaned on Coalstrike's shoulder, feeling herself starting to cry again.

"Why can't I just forget him?"

Coalstrike bit his lip. This wasn't the first time she asked this question and he still didn't have an answer.

"I...I know the things he did to you were horrible…" he squeezed her hand, "But look at how strong you've become! You've grown...we've grown so much! Let's be real, when he…uh…"

Coalstrike trailed off when he realized he wasn't helping at all.

"Do you want to forget him?"

Seashell straightened up immediately. "_What?_"

He almost completely regretted saying that. "What I mean to say is...we've been together for five years. We've been through hell on earth together. You could have walked away after all the stupid shit I do. So what's stopping you?"

She clearly wasn't prepared to be so blindsided. "I…you've been completely different than him. That's not a fair question."

"Maybe not. But you clearly wanted to end this after the doctor's visit."

Guilt burned in Seashell's stomach. "Coalstrike, you're not being fair to yourself."

"But you have," he said, looking her in the eyes, "Why?"

They sat in silence, both searching for some sort of answer.

The holdout lasted until Coalstrike's watch alarm went off. It was four in the morning.

"We should head back."

"Let's."

The two walked together, making it to their street before Seashell noticed Coalstrike looking down with a disheveled look on his face.

''Keep your head up, soldier."

Coalstrike looked up to see Seashell smiling for the first time in a while.

"We've got a war to fight."

* * *

"Well, you look miserable."

It was nearly seven in the morning, and Daffodil had come down to the kitchen to see Seashell draining her cup of coffee and get up to get another one.

"How long have you been up?"

"Since just before three."

"I swear. We need to get you a melatonin perscription."

"I'm fine," said Seashell in between huge gulps of coffee.

Daffodil rolled her eyes before grabbing a banana and sitting down next to her. "Was it another nightmare?"

Seashell nodded.

Her friend sighed. "We need to get you a therapist."

"I've already _had_ a therapist. Besides," she sipped her coffee again, "We have a war to focus on."

"It's kind of hard to do that when you can't sleep at night. You think ARS will not shoot at you if you faint of exhaustion in the middle of a shootout?"

Seashell only rolled her eyes.

"Listen," said Daffodil, grabbing her hand, "He's in jail. He's still got, like, ten years on his sentence. He can't hurt you. So why don't you just focus on allowing your body to sleep?"

Seashell wanted to fight back, but she was too tired. "Fine. I'll try."

"Will you?"

"Maybe."

Daffodil sighed as Seashell finished her coffee, got up and headed to her room to change into her workout clothes. She was always worried about her friend, but she had been getting worse. She didn't know what to do.

But watching on the second level, Mallowleaf decided to check on something.

* * *

"Jaywhisker!"

"What?" he said, closing whatever he was working on.

"I need you to look up something.'

"What am I looking up?"

"The Lindisfarne criminal record archive."

Jaywhisker did some typing and password-breaking, soon pulling up a website with thousands of rows of folders containing every arrest and warrant for citizens of Lindisfarne since their "independence."

'Who am I looking for?"

"Garrett McLaughlin."

"Why him?" asked Jaywhisker, raising an eyebrow, "Doesn't he still have ten years left?"

"Just search him, please. I need to confirm a hunch."

Jaywhisker hesitated, giving her a weird glance before searching "McLaughlin" in the search bar.

There was only one folder. Jaywhisker clicked and pulled up a pdf.

And they both froze.

"No…" murmured Mallowleaf.

Right at the bottom of the file was a line that gave a status of how much time the prisoner had left in jail.

At the bottom, a line read "STATUS: **TRANSFERRED**"

Slowly, Jaywhisker clicked on the line, pulling up another pdf, this one with the insignia of the Forrestlake Justice Department.

"STATUS:** BAILED, PARTIAL PAROLE**"

The basement was silent.

"Jaywhisker?"

"Y-Yes."

"This...remains between the two of us. If you tell _anyone_ about this, you're on a flight back to Lindisfarne."

Jaywhisker was now very scared. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

Mallowleaf stormed out of the basement, now very, very worried.

Seashell could_ not _find out about this.

* * *

_One. One two three. One two. One kick one two three._

The conversation they had that morning played in his head over and over again.

_One two three. One two. One two. One two three four. Kick one two kick three._

"_You're not being fair to yourself."_

"_But you have. Why?"_

_One two. One two three four five six SEVEN. ONE TWO THREE!_

His fist went clean through the punching bag, sand splashing all over the room. He sighed in frustration, sitting down on the side of his bed and groaning into his open hands.

Why did their relationship have to be so...complicated?

Why did his _life_ have to be so complicated.

Oh, how nice it would be to be able to just take Seashell out to a nice restaurant. To just have a normal relationship. To just feel normal.

But being normal doesn't win wars. And he had to win this one.

"You done moping?"

Coalstrike huffed as Ashtooth entered the room, not even turning around to acknowledge him. "What do you want?"

He turned around at the sound of something hitting his mattress.

His fighting gear.

"Foxleap called. He's got a job for us."

"ARS?"

Ashtooth hesitated. "Not exactly."

Coalstrike only hesitated a couple more moments before he grabbed his stuff. "Get me some whiskey. I'll meet you outside in five minutes."

Ashtooth smiled. "You got it, partner."

* * *

The control room remained silent as Bone's video cut away, returning the screen to the endless amounts of green flatlines.

Garrison was the first to move, punching a table and leaving a fist-size dent in the surface. "DAMN IT! WE NEVER SHOULD HAVE TRUSTED HIM!"

Sky remained still in the back, arms crossed and face obscured by the black mask she had on.

"WELL?!" said the commander to the captain, "WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW?!"

Sky remained silent, but before Garrison could completely lose his shit, she spoke.

"They got cocky."

"W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY 'GOT COCKY'?! THEY EXECUTED A HUNDRED OF OUR PEOPLE!"

"Bold move, isn't it?"

Garrison remained silent as Sky pulled out her phone, texting one soldier that had what she needed.

"Garrison, wanna go show Rock we still have the upper hand?"

Garrison made a mental note to stop questioning Sky at all.

* * *

"_Greetings, Rock, Bone."_

_Five black-masked figures stood motionless behind a chair, where an unconscious man wearing a bloodied white shirt, red tie and a black bag covering his head._

"_I know that we haven't been on the best of terms lately, and I apologize for my part in our...rivalry of sorts. But we remain allies. Both of us agreed to it, so both of us should honor it."_

"_So while you were busy 'demonstrating,' we came across something you've been searching for. Something you told us to search for when we became allies."_

_The figure on the far left pulled off the black bag._

_It was Jack Graves._

"_I believe you know this man."_

"_He will remain in our care as long as we are allies. If you agree to set aside our differences, he remains alive, and in our care. All you must do is allow me to command my own soldiers once again. You will continue to have influence over them, but I like to be able to keep an eye on my own men."_

"_However, if you decide to break the alliance…"_

_The figure on the far right cocked his gun, and held the trigger. Incendiary flames blasted from the nozzle._

"_...you'll have some difficulty locating his ashes."_

"_We are on our own timetable as well, so either you make the decision within 24 hours of your receiving the tape, or, if the time runs out or another of our men dies, we will do it for you."_

"_So what'll it be, Rock?"_

"_The choice is yours."_

"_End tape."_

* * *

"Okay, nice work," said Sky after the tape ended, "Take him to the medical wing and retrieve his mask. Get me the tape within the hour. Everyone else, back to work!"

Garrison followed after the captain. "Don't you think using a decoy of the man needed to detonate the bomb both of us want is a bit risky?"

"Absolutely? But this is a pretty suitable ego check, don't you think?"

Garrison nodded.

"Now we just hope he doesn't call our bluff."

* * *

**This is the beginning of an arc exclusively involving Seashell, Coalstrike and Garrison. I plan for it to be spread out through the following chapters, as well as for it to be the darkest arc of the book.**

**Next chapter, more with Dusty and Axis, and a look into the mind of Russetleap.**

**Also, Ashtooth and Coalstrike are now under Jay's control. Keep an eye on New Era if you wanna keep up with them.**

**Now, I'm left to hope Rock is more angry/terrified than smart.**

**Fingers crossed.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	13. Playboys (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**PLAYBOYS**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS NON-EXPLICIT DETAILS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND RAPE. THIS IS ONLY USED FOR THE PURPOSE OF FURTHER VILLAINIZING ARS AS A FUCKED UP GROUP OF PEOPLE. PLEASE SKIP THE FINAL SECTION OF THIS CHAPTER IF THIS TOPIC UPSETS YOU.**

* * *

"Alright everyone! Settle down!"

Everyone in the band room, including Dusty on the drum set, put a hasty end to their warm-up and looked up as a tall, well-postured gentleman with ginger hair slowly draining of color walked in and took the podium. He adjusted his glasses and grabbed his baton a lot faster than anyone was ready for.

"Flamefur. Concert Bflat."

A boy with green eyes and ruffled brown hair with red tips snapped to attention and after playing the note an octave lower, played a Bflat4**.** The concert tuning note for the brass. They too snapped to attention rather abruptly and tuned their instruments over the following two minutes. Dusty clicked his sticks together impatiently. He was ready to go.

When everybody was tuned, the conductor adjusted his spectacles. "Our singer will be here any moment now, so for now, we'll just practice so we can at least play through the song in a passable manner. From the top of 'Pennies from Heaven.'"

Dusty heard murmurs from the strings as he got his score and brushes out. They were not ready for this conductor to launch into one of their hardest songs. _Well, their loss, _he snapped in his head, _This man clearly expected quality._

He thought he would get along with him just fine.

The playing was...lackluster to say the least. Dusty didn't really have the most interesting part in the world, so he just spent most of his rest between his cymbal rolls and hi-hat kicks on beats two and four nitpicking. Half of the string section was faking playing, the trombones were behind almost three measures at one point, and the trumpets were trying to drag the tempo. He just played louder to establish his metronomic dominance at that.

They stumbled through the finish line and the man rubbed his eyes, cleaning his glasses with the tie of his tan suit. "Alright, clearly, we've got some work to do."

The class chuckled awkwardly and half-heartedly.

"Let's see...brass, let's fix the rhythms at the pick-up to twenty-three, because I'm pretty sure none of you played that close to correctly. Think of it in the first and third of a triplet. Baaa-buh baaa-buh baaa-buh. Got it? Okay, from twenty-three."

Just as they were getting ready, a boy wearing a crumbled and dirty black hoodie rushed in, tossing his backpack aside and rushing over to the right of the room. He clearly wasn't interested in being seen tardy.

"Ah, Axis," said the conductor, wearing a terse smirk, "Glad you could join us."

Dusty felt a sudden, painful burn in his face.

_Axis?!_

The bartender went to _his school?!_

"Sorry," he said, ruffling his messy hair as he stretched quickly, "I had a teacher's meeting."

"Fair enough. You get warmed up for 'Pennies from Heaven' and I'll lead you in."

"Got it."

Dusty noticed that the conductor had a lot more respect for the singer, who took off his hoodie and showed a tight dark-gray t-shirt with light-blue sleeves that was small enough that he could see the details of his abs showing through the fabric. The way his body moved as he went through his breathing exercises, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through everything with his soft, yet direct and purposeful gaze.

Dusty looked down and adjusted his shorts when Axis looked his way. He continued to avert his gaze from everything as the brass got themselves together and polished the rhythm until it was drilled in their heads, at the advantage of the ones who practiced and the irritating disadvantage of the ones who didn't.

Dusty twirled his sticks and glanced up as the conductor, who Dusty learned was named Maestro Lionheart by the whiteboard behind him he somehow did not see, worked with the strings on the albeit very difficult sixteenth triplet passage in the first six measures. He recovered from the mention of the handsome bartender he had flirted with two days prior emotionally stomping him as he gave them instructions for practice, getting set to play his simplistic part.

But as everyone was setting up for the beginning, he and Axis inadvertently made eye contact.

They locked eyes for a moment before Axis smirked, winked and looked away.

Dusty flared up in embarrassment, realizing he was noticeably blushing and faked a mild coughing fit to cover it up.

They began, Dusty again only doing a cymbal roll as the brass and strings led into Axis' cue.

And once again, he didn't disappoint.

"_Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven,_

_Don't you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven,"_

My God.

It was as if Sinatra and Crosby were trapped in his voice.

This was too good to be true. _He_ was too good to be true. A slice of raw talent that was unlike anything he had seen or heard before.

He didn't care that the brass were missing a couple of easy notes or that the strings were falling behind. This voice, hand-crafted by God, he was sure, made the three-minute piece perfection.

"Nice work. I hope you enjoyed our warm-up, now let's get down to business. Take out Caravan."

Oh, hell yes.

It was like he had been practicing for this moment.

"Now, drummer...Dusty, right?" said Lionheart, "You do have the hardest part, so if you want to sit out and wait for next week, that's alright."

"That won't be necessary, sir."

The conductor raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then," said Lionheart, fully expecting him to just be too cocky for his own good, "From the top, then."

He counted off and Dusty launched into a double-time Latin, almost reciting the piece in his head by memory. He stumbled a bit and missed a couple beats of the fills, but he kept the main rhythm steady.

After twelve measures, Lionheart cut him off. "Not bad," he said as Dusty wiped the sweat off his forehead, "But you were a little off with the fills. Tempo was steady but it had a tendency to drag. Otherwise, consider me duly impressed."

It wasn't the level of complimenting Dusty wanted from his conductor, but he looked around and saw nodding heads and thumbs up from his bandmates.

Dusty, almost by instinct, glanced at Axis, who slowly nodded his approval.

And that made his imperfect performance almost worth it.

But he didn't quite know why.

* * *

"Remember!" called the conductor as everyone packed up, "If you want to succeed, you need to work! Practice what we worked on!"

Dusty rolled his eyes. Like that would make any difference.

He stuffed his sticks in his backpack, threw it onto his back and followed the throng of players outside.

"Not bad," said a voice behind him.

"Same to you," said Dusty to Axis without looking back.

"You certainly weren't lying when you said you could play."

"Did you think I was?"

Axis shrugged. "You can never trust anyone until they've had a few drinks."

"Wow. Such cynicism."

"Well, we live in a society where a high school junior has to work in a bar in order to make a living."

Dusty nodded.

They walked outside together, side by side, towards the bike rack. They saddled their rides and rode until they were two blocks away.

"So where are you off to?"

"I got work. You?"

"Practice. Gotta make J.K. Simmons proud."

"Nerd."

"Hey! I got talent. Wanna keep it for as long as I can."

"That your career choice?"

"Maybe."

"What are you gonna do with it until then?"

"Primarily work on impressing you."

Axis chuckled. "I'm flattered."

"I thought you would be."

Their faces were inches away.

Dusty pulled back, blushing once again.

"So…"

"Yes?"

"Where do you...sit...at lunch?"

Axis shrugged. "Wherever I want, mainly. Usually somewhere outside if it's not raining."

Dusty nodded. "Cool."

Axis smirked. "It does get a little lonely, though."

Dusty smiled back. "Duly noted."

'As you can see, I'm a master of subtlety."

"Whatever you say, playboy."

The light turned green and the boys went off in their separate directions.

"See you around, Neiman."

"You too, playboy."

* * *

Jaywhisker held his fist inches away from the door.

"Go on," said Mallowleaf, egging him on.

"What if he doesn't want to see me?"

"You brought him along. Why wouldn't he want to see you?"

Jaywhisker bit his lip, not wanting to have this argument again, and knocked.

There was no answer. Jaywhisker opened the door a crack and peeked in.

Russ was sitting at his desk, back to him, flipping the same quarter he had given to him five days ago. Every time it landed, he grabbed his Sharpie and made a tally on some sort of list Jay couldn't see.

"Hey, Russ," said Jaywhisker.

Russ didn't answer.

"I...I know it's been a while since we talked so...how you doing?"

Russ flipped his coin and made a tally.

"Got it. So...what are you into these days?"

No answer.

Jaywhisker pursed his lips, sitting on the side of Russ' bed. His eyes drifted to a red magazine in the top nightstand drawer.

He reached in and pulled out seven issues of "IRON MAN."

He groaned inwardly. It was like he was the only guy in the world who liked DC and not Marvel.

"You like Iron Man, huh?"

No answer.

"His suit is pretty cool."

No reaction.

"Maybe I could make a functioning replica of it."

It wasn't until he noticed he had Russ' undivided attention that Jaywhisker realized his mouth had gone on autopilot.

"Can you?"

"Uhhhh...sure. I can try."

Russ was smiling now. "That would be so cool!"

Jaywhisker hadn't seen Russ smile like that since they first met.

"It...It'll take a few days...or weeks...but I think it's possible."

"Can I try it out when you're done?"

"Maybe it's best if I make one for myself first. Just so that I'm the only one at risk."

"This is so awesome! I'm gonna be Iron Man!"

Jaywhisker smiled in spite of the sentence he had thrust upon himself. "I'll see what I can do, buddy."

"Jay!"

Jaywhisker turned around to have Russ give him a big hug.

"You're so cool."

Jaywhisker was so flattered, the only thing he could do was ruffle Russ's already messy hair.

"Thanks, buddy."

* * *

"So?" said Mallowleaf as Jay raced out of Russ' room.

"Have you seen my goggles?"

Mallowleaf smiled and pulled them out of her pocket, tossing them down over the second floor balcony to Jaywhisker's awaiting arms.

"So what're you making today, great inventor Jaywhisker?"

"I don't know," said the boy, feeling more excited than he had in days, "But if it works, it could help taking down ARS with a knockout punch."

* * *

Icecloud was first aware of a cold surface when she awoke.

Chilly, hard stone, as if every brick had been left out in a blizzard for a night.

She shivered, but the shaking of her body only came in momentary jitters, like a bird flapping her wings to shake snow off her feathers.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her environments were blurry, but she was in a dark gray environment with a pale, yellowing light being the only brightness in her environment. She groaned, forcing her eyes to adjust to the harsh, cold environment.

She tried to move until pain flared through her muscles. She tensed, groaning hard as she curled up in a smaller fetal ball.

She tried to remember where she last was, or what she last remembered. She vaguely remembered calling Jack before she was...jumped by a strange man.

That's when she remembered she had been zapped by a taser and knocked out.

Then she realized that she wasn't touching denim.

She was touching her own skin.

She looked down, and if she wasn't so in pain it hurt to move, she would have screamed.

She was _naked_.

She had been kidnapped.

Her breath hitched and her heart slammed in her chest. Where was she? Why was she here? Why was she naked?

A creepy, bone-chilling laugh answered that question with the worst possible answer.

"Lookie 'ere, boys," said a man to her right, "Look like our princess is awake."

_No no no no no no no no no no no no no!_

"Aw...look at 'er," said another male voice, "She looks so _cute_ when she's so scared."

Icecloud sucked up the pain as best she could, stumbling to her feet. The world seemed to spin twenty times faster in that moment, and she stumbled to the back left corner, sliding down to her knees.

Fluids dripped down her inseam at a torturously slow rate.

"Whaddaya say? Wanna have another go?"

"Nah man, I'm spent. I've had the time of my life, though."

Icecloud looked up, trying to see who her assailants were, to see blurry, black figures, their faces obscured completely.

"No worries. She won't be going anywhere anytime soon. We got her all to ourselves."

_NO! NO NO NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!_

Why her?

_Why this?_

"HEAR THAT, PRINCESS?" shouted one of the men through an iron bar partition fifteen feet away, "GET YOURSELF READY! WE'LL BE BACK BRIGHT AND EARLY FIRST THING TOMORROW!"

She heard several pairs of footsteps walk farther and farther away.

She heard the loud slam of a metallic door.

And she was alone.

Completely alone.

Jack wasn't there.

Foxleap wasn't there.

Cinderheart, Poppyfrost, all of her friends weren't there.

She was alone.

Tears fell freely from her face.

Never in her life had she felt this lonely.

She cried.

Harder and harder.

She cried until she screamed. Blood-curdling, Bacchic, raw screams that would send terror into a cold man's heart.

She was abandoned.

All alone.

* * *

**So, uh...**

**Here comes the hate.**

**Lately, I've been feeling ARS isn't villainous enough. So I pulled a Poppyfrost on Icecloud.**

**If you've read Jay's "Warriors High," you'll get that reference, and know that retribution is in order.**

**Icecloud will be out of this soon. Revenge will be hers.**

**Also, steam is coming from Dusty and Axis. And Jaywhisker has unlocked "genius billionaire playboy philanthropist" mode.**

**Next, an update on Fir's sneaky sneakiness. And possibly an update on Ashtooth and Coalstrike while we're at it.**

**Once again, I'm sorry for Icecloud. I've made the mistake of making an originally unlikeable character too likeable (*cough* Stripeheart *cough*), so this is just the beginning of the digging of their graves.**

**Theoretically.**

**Best, and apologies,**

**~Res**

* * *

**UPDATE: This will not be the last time I put a trigger warning in front of a chapter. Therefore, for future chapters and further forewarning a (TW) will be placed in front of chapters with sensitive content.**


	14. Breaking News (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**WE INTERRUPT YOUR SCHEDULED PROGRAM TO BRING YOU SOME BREAKING NEWS**

* * *

**WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS CENSORED DEPICTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, RAPE AND VIOLENCE. THIS IS ONCE AGAIN USED FOR THE PURPOSES OF CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND VILLAINIZING ARS. THIS CHAPTER IS ABOUT REVENGE, AND BASED ON THE SITUATION I MADE LAST CHAPTER, I HAD TO MAKE THE REVENGE INTENSE. IF THESE TOPICS ARE UPSETTING TO YOU, FEEL FREE TO SKIP THE FINAL HALF OF THIS CHAPTER.**

* * *

If Fir wasn't risking her life being an imposter, she could say she was living her best life right now.

Ever since she had snuck in, she had been faking a worsening illness. It worked like a charm. Foxleap, her "brother," had been giving her free soup for the last six days and continuously venting to her about the different situations the group she was bunking with were getting into. She was getting free food and information without having to lift a finger.

However, it was getting harder and harder to fake an illness, so she had turned to a much more potent resource to push the symptoms along.

Ipecac.

In her bag she had hidden several resources in a location only she knew of. Among these were various drugs, whether they be for medicinal or attack motives. ipecac was a drug Fir never thought she would use, but thanked the Lord for in the end.

The drug was odorless, colorless and triggered the human body's acid reflux, sending the consumer into a coughing spell and, if they had eaten recently, making them throw up continuously for up to thirty minutes.

She had used it the day before and it worked like a charm. Foxleap had freaked out, ushered her to bed and not entered her room since. Probably in fear of spreading something.

It was a good thing. It gave her time to process everything she was hearing.

The group had been chasing after some sort of assassin. And from the way Foxleap scrunched up his face, he seemed to be someone they knew. They had yet to come back from what she heard, but it was a perfect time to snoop around and get information on where she was stuck in.

The place was _huge_. Fir had known that she would be hiding in a mansion, but _Jesus._ Whoever was paying the rent definitely had money to burn. There were two _huge_ floors, an attic and a basement, with weapons of every kind scattered around every one. So, since she presumably had time to search, she gave each of them a look. Thankfully, ARS had scouted ahead and associated most of the layout with faces and names beforehand, so she had an idea on who's room was whose, though there were some that were unoccupied when the report came in.

The majority of the rooms were on the second floor, in a big L-shaped pattern. That's where she began.

The closest room on the right belonged to Cinderheart and Honeyfern. It was quite well organized, but Fir noted various pistol models on the west wall between the two beds and a large katana over the door.

Next to that room was the room of Berrynose and Fallen Leaves. It was messier than the former's but not enough to be ridiculous. The primary attraction was the bookshelf right across from the room, filled to the brim with books, though she did find two shotguns under the bed.

The third room belonged to Jayfeather and Half-Moon. There wasn't much of note, though the room was messy and there were some cracks in the wall. She didn't stay long in that room. There was some sort of smell emanating from the mattress that almost made her gag.

The room farthest down on the opposite wall seemed to belong to a child, with pictures of superheroes on the wall complimenting the navy blue paint job on the walls. Obviously, there was nothing of use in that room.

To the room's left was a travesty. Clothes were everywhere, drawings and ripped pictures were laden as far as the eye could see and sand coated the floor, likely from the busted punching bag in the corner. But among this mess, Fir found a lot of weapons, including pistols, semi-autos and rifles. There was also a set of throwing knives taped under the mattress.

The final room on the second floor was Hollyleaf's. It was _covered_ in black. Black clothes, black paint job, everything screamed emo. Throwing knives lined the front wall and under the lamp was an array of short-range pistols.

Those were all of the rooms she could access. The penthouse and stairway to the basement were locked by some sort of passcode she would figure out later.

By the late evening, she had a list scribbled out. She took a picture, sent it to Crow (With a "Miss you" and a heart emoji) and, using a match from the kitchen, burnt the list and flushed the ashes. She was ready to set herself up with her toxin-doused glass of water when she saw someone had left the news channel on.

She was seconds away from ignoring it when she saw a breaking news telegram pop up on the screen.

The camera cut to flashing police lights swarming a small bar. A reporter quickly babbled about the situation, obviously not knowing much, while several officers let bearded men away in handcuffs and others in stretchers.

The headline read: "BREAKING: Shots Fired in Outer Forrestlake Bar, At Least 2 Dead"

Interested, Fir grabbed the remote and unmuted.

"...with at least seventeen sustaining several injuries. Police are currently in search of a man who was caught on security cameras instigating the fight, killing one and fleeing the scene on a motorcycle."

The screen cut to a grainy, low-quality footage replay of a man flipping a table, the bar exploding into a huge fight, then, likely to censor the actual death, cut to outside footage of the same man who flipped the table fleeing the scene on a motorcycle.

Fir grimaced. _Damn._

"THEY'RE COMING!"

A loud, possibly intoxicated voice interrupted the reporter.

"Shut your trap!" said the officer, elbowing him against the car as the camera turned on him.

"ARS WAS HERE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THEY'RE COMING FOR US! THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU!"

The man was stuffed into the car before he could continue his tirade. The camera turned back into view of a man in a leather jacket on a stretcher being hoisted onto an ambulance and attached to a ventilator.

Fir froze.

She knew this man.

It was Davis. They had trained together in front-line combat.

This was more than a bar fight gone deadly.

This had been an attack on ARS.

And now someone knew who they were.

Someone knew they were here.

The screen cut back to the newsroom.

"We're just getting a more refined picture of the suspect, ladies and gentlemen, so if you recognize this man, please contact 911 with any information you have."

Next to the reporter on the right appeared a refined headshot of a man with a clean-cut goatee. He had short black hair gelled back as well.

The exact man ARS had warned her could compromise her identity.

It was Jack Graves.

_MOTHERFUCKER!_

Fir chucked the remote to the couch and raced to her room, grabbing her phone from under her mattress and dialing for Crow.

"Sigma Airlines, how can I help you?"

"Agent Fir, codename G617D-AA9X."

"You alright? What the hell happened?"

"Crow, listen to me. Jack Graves knows where you are. He's coming! You need to increase security on the hostage immediately!"

"WHAT?! How do you know?"

"Check the news!"

Silence.

"You're right. Okay, we'll do that, but be prepared in case this goes south. He's CIA, keep that in mind."

"Crow?"

"What's wrong?"

"Am I gonna die?"

Silence.

"I don't know. But, my love, I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

Fir smiled shakily. "Thank you, Crow."

"My pleasure. Now, you need to go. I need to tell Garrison."

"Stay safe."

"You too."

Fir hung up, wiped her phone, and stuffed it under her mattress, sitting, praying that she would be okay. Praying that she would see Crow alive again.

Of all the people to do Replacement Procedure, why did it have to be _her?_

Suddenly, she heard the door open.

Amid the cluster of voices, she heard Foxleap hurrying up the stairs. "I'm gonna go check on Icecloud!"

Moving egregiously quickly, Fir dumped a huge portion of the ipecac into her water, hid it and dove under the covers just as Foxleap burst into her room.

"Hey!"

Fir waved, her eyes softening as much as possible.

Foxleap flopped down on the sofa to her left, exhaling dramatically.

"We got him."

Fir's eyes widened.

"Turns out Tigerstar engineered himself back to life and got himself into a suit where he didn't need to breathe at all. Remind me to figure out how to make that technology when this whole bullshit blows over."

Fir instinctively took a large sip of water.

"Let me see how you're feeling," said Foxleap, running the back of his hand over her face. "Fever's gone down, but you're still clammy. Have you thrown up today?"

Fir shook her head.

"Great! Maybe, just maybe, you're getting better and you can get back in...action...soon."

Foxleap's face suddenly changed to avid concern.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Fir nodded.

Well, now that she thought of it, she was feeling a little dizzy. She reached for more water.

She stopped.

Her _ipecac-poisoned_ water.

The water she just had _in front of Foxleap_.

Bile rose in her throat, and she raced to the bathroom. Seconds later, she was blowing chunks harder than she ever had before. She continued to throw up for five minutes.

That, obviously, was too much for her body to handle. So when she tried to stand, she collapsed to her knees and slumped to the floor.

As she faded from consciousness, she heard Foxleap's frantic voice ring through the mansion.

"_Icecloud's been poisoned!"_

* * *

It was easy for Icecloud to lose track of time.

She was trapped naked in her cage for so long she stopped bothering herself with information she would never get. It didn't take long for her to lose a lot of things she would usually have on hand, like wit, optimism, faith…

All things positive, basically. Especially since she was being raped relentlessly until the guards had their breaks.

There was a lot of pain. A lot more than she had ever experienced. Yet, after many hours of poundings and violation, it seemed to...dull out in a crude sort of way. Almost like being drunk.

She certainly didn't care to cooperate, but at this point, she didn't care to try and stop them, either.

What was the point?

Eventually, whether it be out of cockiness or crude convenience, the four men made a tally on the wall she was facing, one for each man's climax. She couldn't bring herself to count that often, but through whatever frame of time she was being tortured through, it seemed to jump from ten to twenty to forty quite quickly overall.

And then at some point, they would leave her out to dry for a couple hours. Most times she would cry, occasionally, she would fail to stand, and all the time she would wallow in hopelessness.

Legend had it that when Poppyfrost was raped by Satan's worst creation, she stood in the face of a male's most heinous crime and laughed.

Icecloud sometimes wished that she could do the same.

* * *

Sometime after Icecloud passed out from exhaustion, she woke to find herself sitting in a large, red-leather chair.

She was no longer naked, but instead draped in a white robe. She was also no longer in agony, the pain of her torture now nothing but a nightmare in the back of her mind.

She looked up, and sitting a couple feet across from her was a young man with blond hair, ruffled and spiky, dressed in a white sweater and sweatpants and holding a clipboard.

"So you're my 4:00 appointment," he said.

Icecloud was very confused. "_What?_"

"No need to be alarmed, Icecloud. I'm not here to hurt you. This is just an evaluation so I can give you instructions on how to go through the healing process in the way most suitable for you."

"I'm sorry," said Icecloud, waving her hands up, "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"Well," said the man, "Normally, I would be a little hurt that you can't answer that yourself, but you've been through a lot. I'll give you a few hints, how about?"

Icecloud didn't answer, so the man continued anyway. "To put it simply, we've known each other since the day we were born. I've been here to help you make some of life's toughest decisions and help you work through your darkest times."

Icecloud sat and thought a moment.

"Wait...You're me, aren't you?"

"Was," said the man, crossing his legs, 'You see, we used to be the same person. We were simultaneous in mind and thought. Like a well-oiled machine. But recently, you've allowed me to grow apart from you over the events of the last couple days. Now, we're...essentially, two different people, and I've been moving away from you ever since you woke up here."

Icecloud looked at the chair. Whereas it was about four feet away from her when she woke up, it was now about six or seven by now.

"Wait…" she said, "So, if we're the same person, but you're moving away from me...does that mean…?"

The man nodded. "You're going insane, Icecloud. You're, in the truest sense, losing your mind."

Icecloud fell back into her chair, slowly taking it all in.

"How...how do I stop it? How do I make you come back?"

"Well…" said the man, straightening up, "When's the last time you remember having a unique thought?"

Icecloud expected this to be a simple question, but when nothing came up, she surprised herself by shrugging.

"That's what I thought," said the man, "Essentially, what's happening is you've surrendered your train of thought, the distinct feature of what makes you human, what makes you sentient. You've let yourself decay into an object. You exist for one reason and for one reason only, and that's to be used for sex."

Icecloud was creeped out now.

"But…" said the man, sitting up, "You're not too far off from bringing your brain back to a functioning state. All you need is a spark. A single thought of faith that will inspire to get back into the ring and fight back."

"But…" said Icecloud, "I've been abused for so long! No one has come for me!"

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Icecloud stopped as the man smirked. "Do you honestly believe that no one would come for you when they figure out what happened to you? Do you honestly believe that your brother wouldn't come for you? Do you honestly believe that anyone in the family you've had for so long wouldn't come for you? Do you honestly believe Jack Graves, who you've loved for two and a half years and has not once put anything before your safety, wouldn't hunt down the bastards who did this and work his ass off just to protect you?"

Icecloud had no answer.

"That's what I thought."

Icecloud looked up, her eyes slowly filling with hope, with life for the first time in days.

No villain could possibly go this long before her friends found the weak link in the chain. Surely, her friends would be storming in guns blazing any time now.

Until then, why continue to be used?

"You're right," said Icecloud, "I refuse to be used any longer."

The man smiled confidently. "That's the spirit. Now go out there and kick some ass for me. For us."

* * *

"WAKEY WAKEY PRINCESS!"

Icecloud was dragged back into consciousness by a loud pounding of metal. She was almost ready to revert back to the state she had been in for so long.

"I hope you got enough rest!"

Icecloud closed her eyes.

_You're not too far off from bringing your brain back to a functioning state._

From behind her, she heard the unzipping of a fly and the clinks of a belt being undone.

_All you need is a spark._

"Oho, I hope you're ready," said the man, "Cause we're going on a wild ride tonight!"

_A single thought of faith that will inspire to get back into the ring and fight back._

"No."

Everything seemed to freeze.

"W-What?!" snapped the man in rage, not ready for his submissiveness kink to drift away so quickly.

"You've had your fun," growled Icecloud, "It's my turn."

And she fired her leg into the man's groin as hard as she could.

The man screamed so loud it seemed to resonate in her brain.

That was the trigger she needed.

She was back.

Throwing herself to her knees, she whirled round and tackled the man, her hands clasping her assailant's throat with a grip harder than she had ever mustered before. The man flapped around a bit, trying to relinquish her clasp before trying to reach for his gun. Icecloud kicked the gun away out of its holster and over to the opposite wall.

Now the man knew he was screwed. He fought back as hard as he could, but his strength was nothing compared to the fresh fight within the girl he had pinned down for several days.

Icecloud squeezed harder and harder. Determined to get her revenge and break out of this hellhole…

...until the cocking of a shotgun and an AR stopped her in her tracks.

"Get your hands off of him, you whore."

Icecloud almost disobeyed, but slowly lifted her hands up in surrender.

The man threw a punch so hard that Icecloud bounced off the ground when she hit the deck.

"Now…" he said, "Where were we?"

_**bang!**_

A round fired outside made everyone stop.

"What the hell was that?"

_**Bang!**_

Another round. This one was closer, and Icecloud could hear shouting from outside the door.

_**BANG!**_

A shotgun round pelted against the metal door, obliterating the top hinge and causing the door to bend inwardly.

Now the four men were alarmed. The man about to rape her again fixed his clothing and joined his fellow assaulters as they took position against the door. Icecloud could hear semi-automatic and pistol rounds amid the firefight, and hope blossomed in her chest when she heard them silenced.

There was a moment of eerie quiet. No guns were fired. The men aimed at the door, ready to blow their intruder to smithereens.

_**BANG!**_

The bottom hinge exploded, and the metal door fell to show a man draped in a black hoodie and sweats, but with a hydro-dipped red and black mask covering his mouth and nose. His eyes burned from the shadow of his sweater, exhibiting an otherworldly shade of malice.

The man at the front raised his AR and fired, but the vigilante kicked up the metal door, blocking the bullets, and launched himself at the man, knocking him down, disarming him and when he landed with his full weight on the door, shattering his nose. He fired three shotgun rounds into the stomach of the guard next to him, who, unfortunately for him, forgot to undo the safety on his AK, slipped behind the man in front of him, making him fire two rounds into the metal door he used as a shield, and applied a brutal chokehold. The fourth man on his right aimed at the intruder's head, but he leaned back so the round blasted open the head of the guard he was choking. He chucked his shotgun at the guard who just fired at him, disarming him when the gun hit him in the face, and using the shotgun of the dead soldier he was holding, kicked the door away and killed the first guard whose nose he had broken with three rounds through the skull.

The vigilante tossed aside the body, ready to finish off the fourth guard quickly.

And then he turned and saw Icecloud.

The shattered state she was in.

And the reek and residue of the sinful acts these men had committed on her.

Icecloud could feel the rage pulsing from the man's body. He was going to make this hurt.

The vigilante ripped the mask off one of the guards and threw it on the ground, shattering it. He grabbed the biggest piece, grabbed the collar of the last guard alive, and stabbed him in the face, again and again amid his screams until the piece pierced his skull. He grabbed his shotgun, fired two rounds into his stomach, one into his chest, and three into his groin. Finally, he ripped off his mask, grabbed him by the hair and with the AR the first soldier had used, thrust the bullet down his throat and unloaded. Fifty-six bullets obliterated his head, breaking through the top of his spine and splattering blood around Icecloud's cell. The girl had to duck and cover her head to prevent getting blood splashed into her eyes.

He tossed the man aside and stared at Icecloud, splattered with the blood and fluid of her assailants.

Icecloud saw the vigilante drop to his knees.

"No!" she snapped, not caring that she didn't know the identity of her savior, "We don't have time for this! You're getting me out of here. Now!"

The man snapped to attention, nodded and after going through the man's pockets, pulled out the key to her door and unlocked it, rushing to her and helping her to her feet.

"Who are you?" she asked as the man draped her arm around his shoulder and grabbed the door, "Why are you helping me?"

The man hesitated, but swallowed it back as he grabbed the door to the cells as a shield and without a moment to rethink his options, sprinted out the door and towards what she assumed was the exit.

Gunfire sprayed against the door and Icecloud faltered in her steps several times, her legs shaking. But when she saw the exit, hope filled her body with life for the first time in several weeks.

Moments later, they burst out from the warehouse exit, sprinting as fast as they could into the forest surrounding them.

Icecloud ran and flailed until her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, the branches hidden underneath the leaves scoring her exposed body as she desperately caught her breath.

She flinched and yelped when she felt her savior's hands on her back, flipping her over. Icecloud tensed up, her hands balling up into fists as she prepared for the worst.

"I'll only ask one more time," she growled, "Who are you?"

The man didn't move at first.

But slowly, he put down his hoodie and removed his mask, revealing the short black hair and goatee of a man who looked ready to burst into tears.

Icecloud gasped.

The man's lip quivered. "I'm...I'm...so sorry, Icec-cloud...so, so sorry…"

Icecloud reached up and slowly touched the man's face.

"JACK!" she squealed in joy.

And she kissed him. Harder than she ever had in her life.

They didn't break apart for five minutes.

And for the first time, Icecloud didn't care that she was naked or had been brutalized beyond belief.

Because now, it didn't matter.

She was saved.

* * *

**THIS WILL BE THE LAST TIME THIS STORY MENTIONS RAPE I PROMISE.**

**But Icecloud is free! I'm only partially sorry for the shit I dragged her through because this will assure you she turns into an all-out badass.**

**Next chapter is Sky's response to Icecloud's escape, Jaywhisker in invention mode and maybe a bit with Axis' reaction with the bigass bar fight he watched.**

**But no more rape! I promise.**

**I plan to torture everyone else in many different ways.**

**Best, and apologies,**

**~Res**


	15. Briefing

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**BRIEFING**

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

The quiet murmurs in the black-draped auditorium hushed to silence, until Sky, who was standing at the microphone on the stage while flanked by five men, all of them in their blackout suits, was the only one heard.

"Thank you all for coming," she began, "I understand that as new recruits of the Assassins of the Rising Sun, this community and process can be a bit...daunting, but rest assured we will be doing everything in our power to make you feel as comfortable as you can be with your obligations within our organization. We are grateful to all of you who signed up willingly, and hope that your contributions can pay off ten-fold."

The audience nodded.

"However, though I know some of you are quite eager to begin your work, there are a couple of...formalities each and every one of you must go through. The first is a mandatory physical and self-defense examination. I expect all of you to pass, but some of the jobs we have in store are quite 'physically taxing…'"

Sky caught some nervous glances among the crowd.

"But there's no need to be concerned. Your placement within our ranks is not at risk. If you are not seen to be fit within our front lines, your assistance will most certainly be needed elsewhere."

The tense aura made Sky roll her eyes. This next part was definitely gonna shake them.

"There are also some ground rules that we need to establish. Your assignment and placement within ARS is not to be taken lightly, so to establish that you all are in working order, there are some liberties we're going to take.

"When the physical and self-defense exams are complete, you'll be receiving a slew of essentials necessary for not just completion of your tasks and assignments, but the establishment of complete anonymity while doing so. You will be receiving your own blackout suit and mask, as well as an organization-issued smartphone and a self-defense weapon of your choice if you pass. Since we are bestowing this amount of firepower to this amount of people, we have crafted our arsenal to notify us immediately if the safety of your guns are disabled, when you send a text and if the tracking device on your suit is tampered with or disabled."

Sky noted that the crowd was now on edge.

"But you wouldn't have come here without a good reason. You all have good reason to be here.

"As we have promised, we have come into possession of funding capable of paying minimum wage to all workers in Forrestlake for twelve work weeks with twenty hours overtime. We have since decided, as ARS as a whole, to convert that into assured economic stability for as long as you remain within our organization.

"As long as your loyalty stands, your rent, your mortgage, your wage, all of it is covered. Assured safety and health of your families. We have money to burn, so why not spend it on the benefit of our contributers."

The audience dropped the nervous act, nodding with approval and eagarness. Sky smiled. It never took that much to win the general population over.

"Now then, I'm on a little bit of a tight schedule so I'll leave you to it. Feel free to ask anyone in a black suit any questions, hors d'oeuvres are in the back and you'll be notified when the tests are ready. Thank you, once again, for your decision to cooperate. Good day."

She stepped away from the mic as the audience stood and dispersed and walked off stage right, where she met Garrison and two others.

"Not bad for your first speech."

Sky rolled her eyes. "The quicker Rust gets his voice back, the higher our numbers go."

Sky's headpiece beeped with an incoming call.

"Sky here."

"_He's waiting in your office now, ma'am._"

"Thank you. I'll be there in three."

The cluster of four walked through the tunnel connecting the auditorium in a scarcely-used community center a couple miles from Riven to their underground warehouse-esque base, called Base One. In truth, they had seven places of operation, but this was where they spent most of their time with negotiations and battle plans.

"I've been thinking…" started Garrison.

"Good. Means you still work for me."

"...what if Rock's already called our bluff? We lose our edge and makes us look desperate for leverage?"

"Oh, he probably has."

"Say what?"

Sky rolled back her soldiers as they began the journey up the four flights of stairs to the meeting room. "He sent an olive branch. The symbol of peace. The fact that he'd go to all that trouble to bestow symbolism upon us shows he's confident in something. All we have to do is plant enough doubt in his mind that he doesn't know for sure, and then he keeps us around."

"You're playing a dangerous game to get your hands on a nuclear bomb we're not even gonna use."

"What can I say, commander?" said Sky, flashing an unseen smirk, "Life is a dangerous game. You just have to trust that whatever happens is all part of the master plan."

They arrived at the meeting room and, after ordering Garrison to guard, she walked in. A man in a black suit sat across from a teacher's desk, like a delinquent in the principal's office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Crow."

Crow just nodded.

Sky took a seat and stared him down for a few moments.

"Take off your mask."

Crow didn't move.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said after a couple of moments.

"Take off your mask."

Crow hesitated a few moments more before undoing his mask, showing his shaggy black hair contrasting his tanned face. He showed no distinct emotions, his face plastered into a permanent glower.

"So?" said Crow expectantly.

Sky removed her mask and set it aside, staring the man down.

"Icecloud has escaped. She was broken out this morning."

Alarmed fury flashed in his eyes until he stuffed it away.

"Why are you telling me?"

"We need a strike team. A retrieval operation. And you're going to lead one."

Crow didn't hide his surprise now.

"_Me?_"

"You'll have six of our best at your disposal," she said, pulling out a freshly-bought file folder containing pictures, maps and scribbled notes, "Use them as you wish, don't get reckless and bring back the girl alive. Kill the agent if you must, but she is your number one priority."

"Wait wait wait wait wait...I'm sorry, why me? There are certainly more qualified people to lead this team. Why me?"

Sky leaned forward, smirking.

"To put it simply, Mr. Crow, you're the one person who would be the most dedicated."

She could see the ice cold realization flash through Crow's eyes.

"W-What do you mean?"

"It's quite simple, sir. You've been having an affair with Fir for...seven, eight months?"

Crow was now very, very nervous. Sky almost felt bad for how he squirmed in his chair.

"T-That's not-"

"Don't try to lie your way out of this. We've known since you tried to station yourself in her line of work."

Crow's eyes suddenly hardened. "So what is this? A test? Are you threatening to kill her if I don't get back the girl?"

"Absolutely not," said Sky, straightening, "That'll happen anyway if she gets found out. The bargaining chip I'm proposing to you…"

Sky pulled out her phone and opened an old HTML website with six numbers.

"...is something much more."

Crow's eyes widened.

They were lottery numbers.

"How much?"

"137 million."

The man fell back into his chair.

"If you succeed, it's yours. Spend it how you want. Get a house, get a car, get a wedding reservation, whatever you want. Just bring her back and make sure _nothing _happens to her identity."

Sky watched the gears turn. He was obviously conflicted and she had failed to win him over previously, but this time, she knew that she had the stakes stacked so high against him that he couldn't refuse.

Everyone could be convinced. You just needed to prove you had their ace in the hole under your sleeve.

"Fine."

Sky smiled. Just as she had planned.

They shook hands and the captain swiftly departed, putting her mask on and grabbing what looked to be an olive branch off the shelf to the right of the door.

"Where are you going?"

"You go brief your team," she said, closing the door behind her, "I have a party to attend."

"So?" said Garrison.

"He's in. Wasn't that hard."

"Of course," said the commander, "Hey, uh, cosmetics phoned in earlier. What foundation do you want."

"Darken my skin a bit," said Sky immediately, "Makes everyone worried they might be racist."

"Heh," said the commander, scribbling the note onto his clipboard, "Only you would have the guts to pull that off."

The captain shrugged. "Why should I care? I've got the blood of tens of thousands on my hands."

* * *

Never again would Dusty do anything with his roommates.

_Never again._

He had been drilling Caravan over and over, planning to pull an all-nighter to perfect it, in the walk-in closet-now-recording studio of his penthouse, when a _very_ drunk Berrynose pulled him into a messy game of truth or dare. Considering everyone else, including Jaywhisker, was on the brink of being wasted, he was very confused on why he accepted, or rather why he didn't lock the door.

He walked out after round three. By then Jayfeather was already shirtless and Lionblaze was fireman carrying three people.

But it didn't end there. Noooooooooo, he just HAD to be pulled into a joyride. It had apparently been a dare from Jayfeather to pack everyone in a car, drive to a bar and take five shots of whiskey. And he just HAD to accept because '_he was bored.'_

Six hours later he was walking down an empty sidewalk by the riverside bordering Forrestlake alone. While the others spent the night in a cramped holding cell, Dusty and Jaywhisker, being the only ones under 18 and found to be "non-compliants", were let go with a warning and a call to their parents, which Jaywhisker faked by using his own number and sending the call straight to voicemail. He offered to get him a bus ticket home, but at that point Dusty just wanted to stay away from all people, especially the ones who got him in jail.

He usually wasn't this uncomfortable. Hell, he probably would have had fun with this under different circumstances. But…

Something felt off with how he thought. Maybe it was just anxiety caused from the pressures of band. Maybe it was the pressures of Coalstrike, Ashtooth and Mallowleaf, who had just gotten more and more riled up since Foxleap got them on a job.

But neither of those were it.

It was because Axis had disappeared.

It was the second straight day that he had been gone from school. Normally, he wouldn't be worried, and he wasn't, thinking that he had gotten the flu that Icecloud had come down with, until he saw the 11 o'clock rewind, when he found out that the bar that Axis had worked in was just experiencing a bar fight gone deadly.

He at least had his number, and he had sent a test text to get Dusty into his contacts, but Dusty had texted him twenty times over the last forty-eight hours just to see if he was okay.

Nothing.

Odds were that he didn't get killed, since that would have shown up the following morning, but the vanishing worried him. He couldn't find him anywhere.

He hoped he was okay.

After about an hour of walking, Dusty sat down underneath an interstate bridge crossing the river. It was now about four in the morning and he was exhausted. The streets were quiet, and Dusty saw a small congregation of homeless people in sleeping bags and under cardboard boxes.

He didn't know how long he was sitting there for, but he started when he saw someone in a sleeping bag shift and turn so that his face was facing him. He was about ready to move when he stopped.

Had he seen that face before?

He snuck over to halfway across the road.

Oh God.

He thought he was going to throw up.

It was Axis.

Sleeping on the street.

Before he could hear that someone was near and wake up, Dusty had already taken off. And by the time he woke up a couple hours later, he was long gone.

* * *

**Happy late Easter, everyone!**

**I know that I get to sit at home and chill while checking in for attendance five days a week at home, but watching a telecast of Easter mass was...really depressing. The coolest thing that happened was when our archbishop led a procession of three out the sanctuary to the balcony of the church, where it was snowing outside, and blessed the entire city. That was so cool.**

**If you see that later, that's why.**

**But Jay just released a "filler" chapter. That means two things.**

**One, the chapter inadvertently inspired three character arcs, maybe four.**

**Two, he's announced he's taking a break for a week.**

**Now's my chance.**

**Just kidding.**

**Sort of.**

**Next chapter, Icecloud and Jack make a pit stop, Jaywhisker makes an innovational breakthrough and ARS makes their next move.**

**Stay tuned.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	16. The Society of Liars

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**THE SOCIETY OF LIARS**

* * *

"Nothing?!"

"_Cut me a break, man!_" said Sunfield on the other end, "_It's like they were tailored to avoid everyone! They're ghosts between classes and they never eat lunch in the same place! I've only seen them at lunch once!_"

Fang frustratedly massaged his brow. "Well, surely they have friends, right? They can't possibly be that inconspicuous!"

"_Well, there's this one guy…_"

"Who?! What's his name? Where does he live? Are you friends with him yet?"

"_Fang, I'm hanging up._"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE HANG UP ON ME!" he roared into the phone amid Sunfield's snickers, "Who is the boy?"  
"_Don't know,_" the boy said nonchalantly, "_All I know is that he eats outside and is in Advanced Band or something._"

Sunfield was met with silence on the other end.

"_Fang?_"

"You're free after school, right?"

"_NO!_" shouted the boy, "_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NONONONONONONONONONONONO-_"

"Come on," said Fang, a smirk slipping through a corner of his mouth, "You work at a record store! It shouldn't be too hard."

"_That doesn't make a difference! I've never picked up an instrument! Don't do this to meeeeeee._"

"I'm hanging up, Sunfield."

"_WAIT! PLEASE! NO-_"

Fang hung up, a grin slipping through. He had finally found a way to get even with the annoying smiler.

"You seem thrilled," said Lostface, sitting down across from him with a bottle of whiskey and pouring generous portions into two large glasses.

"I think I may have finally gotten the direness of the situation through to the boy," said the brute, gulping down a third of his drink in one sip.

"Jesus, man," said the lady, guzzling down her drink, "Why is striking fear into the boy's heart one of your life goals."

"It's not," he said, taking another sip, "Just...think of it as a prized side quest. The faster he sees how shitty the world is, the faster he can actually become a real agent. The last thing I want is him getting shot in a firefight where he brought glitter, sunshine and rainbows."

"Fair enough," she responded, finishing her drink, "But why are _you_ the one feeling obligated to make him see the world as a dark place?"

"The quicker he sees straight, the better," he said, "The last thing everyone wants is for him to turn out like me."

"Yes, the strong, respected and feared brute who can absorb three bullets without death, crack a man's skull with one swing and _even_ had an affair with the queen for, like, a month."

"It wasn't an affair! I knew her _long_ before she became queen!" he shot back irritably.

"Sure, sure. So what do you call that time period where you two had sex twice a day for four weeks?"

"That's irrelevant," snapped Fang, finishing his drink to hide his blush, "The point is that _I_ grew up like him, thinking the world was just sunshine, lollipops and rainbows until my mom dies, my brother tries to kill me and I was kicked to the streets of London to fend for myself. I don't want him to go through that shit! I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy!"

"Not even your brother?"

"Okay fine, but besides him…"

"Alright, you've made your point," she shrugged, refilling her glass and draining it in two gulps.

"Are you jealous?"

Lostface raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Fang held a cocky smirk. "Let's be real. You wanted a piece of me when Poppy and I first made camp here. You jealous that she got to me first?"

Lostface flung the almost empty bottle at his face, which fang caught with one hand and drained the rest. "You didn't answer my question."

Lostface smirked. "You're lucky the queen still keeps you around."

Fang grinned. "I know."

"I...was," she said, her intoxication taking the lead, "Before Cloudtail was killed in Iraq, I was in an area of...sexual distress, you might call it. For weeks, all I wanted was dick, and your arrival with Poppyfrost didn't help at all. Then, when I found out Cloudtail was dead, I took a chastity oath and I got over it."

"Ah yes. The ultimate turnoff for all drunk, flirtatious men."

"Eh. You'd be surprised. There are some people with _really_ fucked up kinks."

"Oh, I know."

Fang stopped when he heard a small beeping. He looked down to see his watch beeping red.

"What is it?"

Fang's eyes widened.

"Intruder."

"HELP!" shouted a man from across the marketplace, "SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE!"

Instantly, the pair was sober. Fang flipped on his brass knuckles and Lostface locked and loaded her six-shooter as they raced across the main street, where the crowd circled around what looked to be a man holding an unconscious person.

"MOVE!" shouted Fang, shoving people aside and standing threateningly over the man, who had messy, dirty black hair and a goatee, holding an unconscious woman, a couple of dirty towels being the only thing protecting her modesty.

"Who are you?" growled Fang as Lostface aimed at the man's head, "How did you get here?"

"Please," whimpered the man, not hesitating to throw himself down to their mercy, "You need to help us. She-"

"Fang," rasped Lostface, suddenly on edge, "Do you smell that?"

Fang stopped.

Oh God.

Emanating from the girl wasn't just body odor.

It was semen.

"You...you better not be lying…" he growled.

The man's eyes ignited in raw fury. "WHY THE HELL WOULD I LIE ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!"

"Fang," growled the woman, "Regardless of if he's lying, we can't risk throwing her out."

Fang was still on the fence.

But this girl's life was more important than how much Poppyfrost was going to kill him for this.

"Get her inside," he ordered Lostface, who nodded and helped lift the limp teenager in the direction of the throne room.

"BACK TO WORK!" he snapped at the bystanders, who scurried away to their shops as he followed their unwelcome guests inside.

Though Fang couldn't shake the feeling that by taking them in, he was pulling everyone down into something much bigger.

* * *

"JESUS CHRIST!" shouted Foxleap, who looked about ready to pass out, "YOU'VE KEPT ME UP FOR ALMOST THE WHOLE NIGHT! CAN I GO TO BED YET!"

"NOT YET!" shouted back Jaywhisker, in a frenzy as he drained his third can of Irish whiskey and typed commands into his computer at the speed of light. "Okay, one of the post-it notes have numbers saying what the 'master hinges' are. Can you read them out to me?"

Foxleap honestly didn't give a shit, grabbing a post-it note at random. "Okay, uh, 45, 84, 22, 15, 70, 43 and 66."

"No no no!" said Jaywhisker, sprinting over the exhausted inventor, "Those are the component attachers. Were you even listening to me?"

"I sure hope not." muttered the redhead as Jaywhisker erratically sifted through the hundreds of post-its on the wall next to the chair Foxleap was about to call his bed for the night. After about forty-five seconds of searching, he ripped a post-it near the ceiling off. "GOT IT!"

He sprinted back to his computer, read the numbers for about a third of a second and after four tries, typed in a command and sent it.

The power glove-esque module closed in, resembling the shape of the iron gauntlet from Endgame. "YES!" shouted the boy with inhumane enthusiasm, "FOXLEAP! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! WE'RE ALMOST THERE!"

Foxleap groaned and shuffled over. Whoever this side of Jaywhisker was, he definitely was _not_ a fan of it.

"Okay, I need you to type in this command just as I say it."

He spoke a forty word command that Foxleap did not process. "What the hell are you saying?" he said drowsily.

"YOU SAID YOU WERE GOOD WITH COMPUTERS!" he shouted indignantly, shoving him aside and typing in the command himself.

"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP SHOUTING?!" screamed Foxleap.

"NOT WHEN I'M THIS CLOSE!" he shouted back, finishing the command for him before sticking his hand into the glove. "Okay! SEND IT!"

Foxleap pressed enter and the glove closed around Jaywhisker's hand and wrist. "Okay," said the boy, "Type in 'sys:unlock/bm."

After twenty unnecessarily tense seconds, Foxleap finished and sent in the command.

Cautiously, Jaywhisker flexed his hand.

The glove moved with his fingers perfectly.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" he shouted, "Now, type in 'sys:start!'"

Now Foxleap was awake.

Was this kid really onto something?

He sent the command and heard a loud whirring from the glove. "Now what?" he said, prepared to be engaged in this.

"Duck."

"What? AAH!"

The redhead barely had time to duck as Jaywhisker fired an energy beam straight above him and into the wall, with Newton's 3rd Law flinging him back ten feet onto his back.

Both inventors got to their feet and saw a large stone-size hole in the back wall where the blast went through. The wall was busted and the hole would take a contractor to replace, but at the moment, that was the topic of the least concern.

Foxleap turned and stared in jealous awe at the boy, who stared at his masterpiece in drunk shock.

"YES!" he shouted, pumping his half-armored fists, "YESYESYESYESYESYESYEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEEEEEES! I DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID IT!"

Foxleap just sat quietly as the boy very slowly brought himself back to his senses.

"Hah...hah...hah…" panted the boy after about ten minutes of basking in his victories. "What...what time is it?"

Foxleap checked his watch. "Uh...just after five in the morning."

"Okay...so how long have I been up?"

"Well, you started building this thing around midnight yesterday, so...thirty hours?"

"Wow...I've never been this productive in that timespan since...ever. Thank God for alcohol."

"Context, please."

"I dunno, man. My mind just...works better when I'm drunk. I've never been able to think so fast and so well before."

"That's...not good."

"Why not?"

Foxleap looked at him as he sat up. "Ever heard of an alcohol overdose?"

"Okay, sure," he said, holding up his new creation, "But look at what I just made! Think of all the great things I can do like this! I can build this suit by the end of the week! I can BUILD THAT HELLBAT ARMOR IN A COUPLE NIGHTS! I CAN BRING DOWN ARS IN A SINGLE DAY. WITH MY OWN. TWO. HANDS!"

"I'm not gonna get through to you," muttered Foxleap, getting up and stumbling to his bedroom, "Go to bed."

"You're not my dad!"

"I MIGHT AS WELL BE!" he snapped back, slamming the door behind him.

Jaywhisker got to his feet, ready to get the glove off and hit the hay, until…

The left hand wasn't that hard to build. Hell, he had all the parts he needed to build the second hand right here, right now.

Jaywhisker unequipped his glove, made a copy of the code file and got to work. He wasn't going to be sleeping today.

* * *

"Alright," said Sky, "I'm going in."

"Don't fuck this up," said Garrison through her earpiece embedded inside her right ear.

"Thank you, commander. Your faithful words are truly what keep me going."

She walked in through the fancy oak double doors.

It was the most Gatsby party she had ever seen. Expensive dresses, ecstatic couples, exotic buffet, everything needed to paint a portrait of the Roaring 20s on the expensive side of New York City.

She didn't like it here.

But nobody could know that. This was a rich man's party, after all.

As she was observing her surroundings, a drunk man stumbled up to her left and gratuitously groped her ass. It took an elbow to the chest and an unfortunate timing for his wife to turn around to shove him away.

She swallowed back the intense urge to whip out the switchblade strapped to the back of her bra and stab the life, hope and dreams of the pretentious prick. She needed to remain calm. The faster this was done, the quicker she got out.

After grabbing a shallowly filled wine glass of champagne from one of the finely dressed waiters, she spotted Firestar, shaking hands with a man with aged, blond-blue hair with glasses.

The obstacle.

"Come now, Firestar," said the elderly man, "When children have the freedom to choose, they choose wrong."

"Yes, I suppose so," said the leader, subtly giving away how uncomfortable he was, "Give my regards to the staff…"

The staff.

She had found their target.

The two broke apart as Sky signaled Garrison. "I got him. He's heading to the east wing."

"On it."

Now to get to Firestar.

"Oh hello, Firestar!" she said, faking a genuine smile smoothly, "You don't know how much of an honor it is to meet you!"

FIrestar's smile seemed to decay a bit, until it felt like a formality. "On the contrary, you don't know how much of an honor it is for ME to meet people like you. If it weren't for the people, Forrestlake would never be where it is today."

He had just lied to her face with a smile.

By God, he really was a politician.

"Well, no need for flattery! Otherwise we'll all faint before we get to the voting booths!"

Firestar covered up his uncomfortability with a couple forced chuckles.

"Now, how is your wife...Mrs. Sandstorm these days?"

"Ah well," he said, shrugging, "All of these charities and galas certainly...work her sleep schedule to the extreme. She's at home, taking a much-needed rest."

"Yes, yes," said Sky, straightening, "After all, a man without his wife is surely going to find himself in heaps of trouble if they are not careful."

Firestar's smile started to slip as she moved to talk nearer to his ear. "You...definitely need the right people by your side to maintain status quo."

"_Or…"_ she whispered, "_Is that really what you want, Mr. Firestar?_"

The delivery was so quiet and so subtle that Firestar froze for a moment to process it. But after a moment, he fixed himself up. "I should be going. Have a lot more guests to greet."

"As good hosts should," said Sky, shaking his hand, "It was a pleasure meeting you, sir."

"Same to you, Ms…"

"Brazelton. Ms. Brazelton."

Firestar walked away while Sky showed a smirk for the moments she could.

There was no greater pleasure in this world than scaring the liars that led them.

A conversation between liars.

Among a society of liars.

"Alright," said Sky, "I'm going in."

Though there was no answer, Sky assumed he had heard the update.

She crossed the room, shooting down flirtatious looks as she moved to the other side of the great hall, stumbling more and more until she propped herself up against the wall.

"Oh, miss!" said Crookedstar, who happened to be the nearest, "Are you alright?"

"Yep!" she said, grabbing his shoulder, "Just...a little much to drink."

"Can you stand?"

"I...guess not. Uh...do you mind calling a cab?"

"Sure! Uh...let's just get you outside and I'll make the call."

"Thank you," said said, "Thank you."

Five minutes later, she was seated on a

* * *

bench right outside the party house while Crookedstar waved to the black Uber pulling up the valet circle. He rushed to Sky to help her up as the car came to a stop and the passenger window rolled down.

"Do you need help?"

"That won't be necessary."

Crookedstar's eyes widened as Sky stood up under her own power.

"Good evening, you two," said Garrison from the driver's seat, "I'll be your chauffeur for the night.

Crookedstar had no time to react before Garrison fired a tranq dart into his stomach.

Seconds later, he was out cold.

After laying him down in the backseat, Sky slipped in the passenger side and fastened her seatbelt as Garrison pulled away.

"Unfreezing the cameras in 3...2...1…"

Moments later, the four cameras around them that could have seen the kidnapping were back on real-time, erasing all security evidence that they had been out here in the first place.

"So," said Garrison, pulling onto the interstate, "Did you enjoy the party?"

Sky glared maliciously, slipping on her mask.

"I cannot wait to burn this entire place to the ground."

* * *

**A wise man once said that the only party you can safely make fun of is the rich.**

**I don't know who that man was, but damn was he right.**

**But Sky now has her second victim. What's she gonna do with him? Well, nothing good, but likely nothing as serious as...um...the other thing.**

**But I am SET for Jaywhisker for the next...many chapters. He's going CRAZY. Think of him as Wade from Kim Possible crossed with Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor.**

**Not his performance of Lex Luthor itself, but more of the idea to make him Lex Luthor in the first place.**

**Sorry not sorry.**

**And if I screwed up Sunfield, Jay, I apologize. It's just...he's necessary, but really happy characters are not my cup of tea. You've probably figured that out by now.**

**Next chapter, Sunfield prepares to join band (against his will) and meets Dusty and more Coalstrike and Ashtooth. Haven't used those two in a while, so why not show you some backstory?**

**Or to put it better, why not show you shades of how dark I can possibly be?**

**Heeheehee. :)**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	17. Price Tags

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**PRICE TAGS**

* * *

Ravenheart had expected Garrison to escape when they left him.

But he didn't have to _trash _the place.

"Doesn't look like he stole anything of value," said Crowflight, going through drawers and cabinets and checking thoroughly.

"THAT BASTARD!" shouted Tigerjaw suddenly, putting the other two at arms.

"HE STOLE EVERYTHING FROM THE FRIDGE!"

They relaxed. For now, this mess seemed to be a dick move. "It's fine," said the smaller man, "We can just rebuy everything later…"

Ravenheart looked in the shared bedroom. Drawers had been searched and pillows had been ripped open. It looked like he had been searching for something specific.

"Raven!" called Crowflight from the kitchen.

"What?" she said.

"Look in the freezer."

She looked at them, confused, before opening the door.

The ice machine was busted and the freezer was empty except for…

"A VHS tape?" she said in confusion.

"Is it rigged?" he said, pulling it out and looking at it.

The woman ran her hand over the bitterly cold surface, observing it closely. "Nothing out of the ordinary," she said after a moment, "It's just a normal tape."

"Well, _I_ don't wanna watch it," said Tigerjaw, "I'm gonna go restock our fridge."

Crowflight shut and locked the door before he could leave. "We're watching this together, like it or not," he growled, "Who knows what Garrison wants to tell us?"

Tigerjaw sighed in frustration, pulling up a chair in front of the television as Ravenheart rigged up the VHS player, put in the tape and pressed play.

"HEY!" snapped Crowflight in annoyance as the tape began, "He's wearing my suit!"

"Shh!"

_Garrison stood in front of the camera, donning Crowflight's tuxedo and a polite, professional stance._

"_Good afternoon, you three. Welcome to your lesson on economics for the day."_

"_Have you ever heard of the term 'net worth?' Well, in microeconomics, it's defined as the value of a compiling of assets owned by one person. Essentially, it's a price tag. How much a person is worth based on what they own. So for you three, it would be the apartment you own, the purchases you've made and the association you have-pardon-_had_ with Sol."_

_He smiled._

"_But we're not here to talk about the stock market. We're here to discuss something a bit more extreme…"_

_He turned the camera to a crude replica of a human being made of their household objects, including pillows, rubber bands, and 2 by 4s. On the pillow representing the head was a smiley face that looked to be drawn by a five year old._

"_Let's start at the head and work our way down."_

_He grabbed a kitchen knife from an unseen table and vigorously stabbed open the left eye, reaching in and pulling out a small sphere of ice that the Triumvirate had sometimes used to embellish their margaritas._

"_Now interestingly," started Garrison, "The eye is a very valuable organ. You wouldn't expect it to be that much until you consider it as a tell-all. It conveys emotion, gives you sight and so much more. That alone makes it worth a couple million."_

_Garrison slit open the mouth and pulled out a bag of frozen corn drenched in white paint._

"_Now around the market, teeth are considered a fallback item. Easy to get, easy to sell and a nice way to get a couple grand in a pinch. Many people often smash their teeth out just to pay the rent nowadays."_

Crowflight cringed.

"_Let's move on to the vitalest organ of all: The heart."_

_He stabbed the pillow below the head and pulled out a small plushie of a heart with a cutesie face on it._

"What the hell is that?" said Ravenheart, "When did we get that?"

Tigerjaw bit his lip and continued watching.

"_There are so many ways to use a human heart. You can eat it, cut it open, put it in a jar and show it off as a trophy or souvenir or even perform a dissection. It's such a fascinating, important and expensive organ. Even a weak one these days are bartered for over ten million."_

"_Now let's look at bones."_

_Garrison harshly yanked a 2 by 4 off of the body, making all three of the viewers flinch._

"_There are about 200 bones in the human body, so when you take into account the age, quality, size and vitality, the range goes from about just under a grand…"_

_In a show of pure strength, Garrison snapped the perfectly stable and functioning piece of lumber over his knee in one try._

"_...to about 100 million. All of the price depends on strength, vitality and health."_

"_And finally, the true jackpot."_

_Garrison took the knife and stabbed a hole into the lower pillow holding the legs. After a couple seconds of shuffling he pulled out something that made the Triumvirate flinch._

_Two eggs in a Ziploc bag._

_It didn't take a genius to get the message._

"_You're probably wondering how this could be a hot commodity. Surely there can't be that many sick fucks that would throw their life savings at something like them. But it's not about the product itself…"_

_With one hand, Garrison crushed both of the eggs with one hand, making Tigerjaw gag, Ravenheart flinch and Crowflight cross his legs._

"_...it's what's inside."_

_The madman smiled, setting the bag down. "Now, artificial insemination is not really a common practice. Not many can see the use of it. But when you get three otherworldly beings, with the powers of gods in their blood, it's just enough to put it up for sale and see where the prices can go."_

"_And I did just that."_

_Garrison grabbed a computer off of an unseen table and pointed the camera on a white website screen. It focused on a knockoff eBay site with pictures of three products with rapidly changing prices. And as the camera focused, all three of them gasped._

_It was them. A brutally accurate reconstruction of their naked bodies._

_And the prices were _soaring_._

_The price for each of them was jumping at about $100,000 per refresh. One moment, the price of each of them was 600k, the next it was over a million._

"_Funny, isn't it?" said the madman, "The craziest individuals to commit egregious fraud and laundering to get their hands on your brain."_

"_But that's it for your lesson in economics. I hope you took away something useful for future use."_

_A ding from the laptop._

"_Oh," said Garrison, "Buyers are conducting a strike at 11:30."_

_The last thing they saw on the tape was Garrison looking straight into the camera and smiling._

_The tape cut to black._

The Triumvirate were in shock.

Every second they sat still their bodies were being auctioned off.

Crowflight looked ready to throw up, Tigerjaw was almost in tears and Ravenheart was as pale as she had ever been.

None of them could have prepared for this.

"Guys."

"W-What?" said Ravenheart shakily.

"It's 11:29."

The three of them heard a whoosh above their apartment.

"_Run._" hissed Crowflight.

The three of them scrambled out the door and down the dingy hallway.

They got to the stairs down when a concussive explosion demolished their apartment and took the building with them.

* * *

"Do you think you can undress yourself?"

Icecloud remained sitting on the bench next to the tub, shaking.

"Okay, that's fine," said Lostface, helping her take off her shirt gently, "You've been through a lot, I can tell."

When she was stripped, Lostface helped Icecloud into the bathtub, the latter wrapping herself into a miserable ball in the hot water as the former lathered up a damp washcloth.

"So if it isn't too much, how did this happen to you?" she asked quietly, lathering up her hair and washing it off with a cup of water.

Icecloud's lip quivered. She wasn't interested in talking.

"That's alright," soothed Lostface, who was uncomfortable enough that she had to wash a recent rape victim. Awkwardly, she finished the job and grabbed a clean towel from a fresh cabinet, draining the bath and going over her skin with a towel.

"If it's any consolation," she muttered as she helped Icecloud up and back onto the bench, "Fang's sent some of our associates to get as much information on the people that did this to you. Rest assured we will kick their asses if it's the last thing we do."

"A-ARS…"

Lostface's eyes widened. She got to a squatting position and grabbed her hands.

"T-They beat m-me...r-raped me...f-forty-three t-times…"

Forty-three times.

Forty-three.

Lostface was going to be sick.

"We will find these bastards," she growled threateningly, "show them no mercy, see them off to hell ourselves and make sure Satan himself tears them limb by fucking limb."

Icecloud's eyes filled with tears, the trauma in her eyes as clear as day.

"J-Jack…"

Lostface nodded, grabbing a new pair of underwear and the softest bathrobe she could find and helped put it on her. She helped her to the door, where Jack Graves anxiously waited.

Icecloud fell into his arms and hugged for twenty seconds.

"Thank you…" muttered the agent, his eyes wet.

Lostface nodded gruffly. "Bedroom's on the second door to the left," she said, scooting past them and moving to a control room.

"That bad, huh?" said Fang as she grabbed a cask of whiskey from the counter and drank it from the bottle.

"Forty-three times."

Fang was mortified.

"You're lying."

"We must destroy those motherfuckers with the most prejudice a human can muster. What have you got?"

"They're called the Assassins of the Rising Sun," he started, "They're responsible for two major bombings on the former American colony of Lindisfarne, and they're here now."

"That's _it?!_" snapped Lostface.

Fang shrugged, frustration seeping through. "They're ghosts. They're so organized and quiet between attacks it's like they form spontaneously, blow up a couple of buildings and dissipate completely."

"Fuck!" said Lostface, smashing the drink against the table and slumping into a chair, "They must pay. They can't do this to an innocent woman and expect to get away with it!"

"I know…"

The room was silent.

"Check this out," said Fang.

"What? You find something?"

"Maybe," he said, pulling up a news article. The headline read "TWENTY-SIX BUSINESSES MIGRATED TO FORRESTLAKE IN THE LAST TWO WEEKS: WHAT THIS MEANS FOR THE ECONOMY AND WHO YOU SHOULD FOLLOW"

"That's...That's a lot."

"Who knows?" he said, "It could just be a coincidence. Some greedy fuckers capitalizing on Scourge's attack on the city."

"Hm…" said Lostface, gears turning in her head at full speed.

"Keep an eye on this," she said, "It's a stretch, but we may be onto something."

* * *

Sunfield never thought spying would be this hard.

He was supposed to be making friends with this guy, but that was difficult when he was taking almost every precaution conceivable to avoid everyone except the two people he talked to.

And now he was trapped as a backup singer in Advanced Band, which he started tomorrow.

The pressure was almost enough to make him reconsider being a spy.

Almost.

He had set a goal for himself today. Today he was going to listen in to one of Dusty's conversations, find a topic that he talked about and start a conversation with him on it. Seemed simple enough to be effective.

So he went through the day watching him from a distance. He was being very anti-social, not talking to anyone for most of the day, until passing time for lunch, when he picked up something between him and Jaywhisker.

"They've got better morals! I'm telling you, the best lessons I've learned have come from DC movies! What do you get from Marvel movies? They're basically long action sequences!"

"It's not about morals. It's about character development! Lemme ask you this. What major characters have had no development since they were first introduced?"

"Easy! Captain Marvel and…"

"_See?_ If we take that movie out of the picture, you see these people slowly change! Tony Stark went from a selfish, drunk billionaire to a man who sacrifices himself to save the universe. Captain America went from screwing himself over trying to save everyone to resolving his ambiguities by fighting for who he truly wanted to save! Banner spends his whole life thinking of the Hulk as a poison until he coalesces with him and becomes one with him! Thor is a selfish, unlikeable hothead until he learns from his father that he has great power and is willing to save the universe! Do you get that kind of storytelling from DC? Is there ever that much love put into each of those characters and the stories they lead?"

That was all Sunfield heard. He had all he needed.

So he kept on following him, trying to bump into him and initiate a conversation with him, but he was staying so deliberately distant that it seemed that he never got the chance.

But towards the end of the day, he got his chance.

Everyone was heading out and the hallways were mostly empty. Sunfield stayed by the entrance, hopefully being able to catch him before he left the building.

But as luck had it, he caught Dusty heading down a separate hallway. So he ran after him and followed him.

The hallway was empty except for the two of them, so Sunfield could easily see Dusty get a text, look at it and pick up his pace. Sunfield matched it, hopefully finally being able to get to him.

So he followed him until he abruptly turned into the men's room. There he waited for a second, thinking he was being too proactive, counted to three and followed him inside.

He saw the door next to the handicapped stall close and lock. Being much quieter to catch any suspicious noises, he slowly entered the handicapped stall and locked the door.

Immediately he was jumped, one hand going onto his mouth and the other holding a very sharp Swiss Army knife to his throat.

"_You think I haven't noticed you following me around?" _snarled Dusty quietly into his ear.

Sunfield's eyes widened.

"_At first I thought you wanted to be friends, but there's a purpose for you doing this, isn't there?"_

He pressed the edge of the blade against his throat, making him cringe and squirm.

"_Who are you and who do you work for?_"

* * *

**Sloppy, I know. But I needed to get back into the game with something.**

**But the first hints of Sky's master plan have been unearthed. I know _some of you_ have the ingenuity to guess it right away, so shoot me a DM if you feel confident enough.**

**Next chapter, more Dusty and Axis, Coalstrike and Seashell and I'll figure out what the hell to do with Crow.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	18. Trauma (Part II)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**TRAUMA (PART II)**

* * *

Dusty felt the boy squirm, grasping for his hand and trying to pry it away.

"_Don't play any games,"_ he snarled, _"I know you work for someone. Who is it?"_

The boy pointed at his obstructed mouth, wishing to speak. Dusty, after a brief hesitation, moved the knife out of the way and removed his mouth, allowing him to gasp for breath and break away.

"I'm giving you ten seconds," he said, "Talk."

"I want to be friends with Axis!"

Dusty hesitated. "What?!"

"I signed up for Advanced Band when I transferred here and I heard about Axis being the lead singer. I wa-I signed up as a backup singer and I wanted to be friends with him so that we don't have any bad blood or anything. So I've been trying to talk to him for the first couple days and I haven't gotten the chance…"

"Wait...why?" said Dusty, raising an eyebrow, "He's, like, the nicest person you'll ever know! Just go up and say hi and you'll be friends right away-"  
"_That's exactly why I wanted to talk to you!_"

Dusty's grip tightened around his knife. "Oh really?"

"Yeah! Cause you seem...I don't know, into him?"

The boy hesitated when Dusty glared at him. "_Tread carefully,_" he warned.

He looked like he had a wisecrack ready if he didn't have a knife in his hand as he continued. "Well, you only-you're the guy Axis talks to the most, so...maybe you could introduce me?"

Dusty thought about it and nodded. "Okay, sure."

The boy smiled, very relieved. "Great!"

But Dusty blocked the door before the boy could open it. The boy turned and stared at him, caught off guard.

"But you still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"_Who are you working for?_"

Dusty expected him to blabble off or try to throw him off the trail, but instead, he just smirked with a newfound spark of confidence.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Dusty immediately swung the blade to stab him, but froze when the boy caught the blade in midair. He smiled, seemingly impressed that he could pull that off.

But his opponent was better, the moment he reached behind him and grabbed his free wrist, he panicked.

And Dusty demolished him, needing an upshot right into the stomach, a landed haymaker sending the boy stumbling out of the door, and a roundhouse to the face sending him to the floor, groaning and writhing in pain.

"Alright, _rookie_," he smirked, searching the pockets of his khaki shorts, "Let's check that phone, shall we?"

He pulled out what looked to be an iPhone 7, encased in a bulletproof case meant for construction sites. Using a nifty trick Jaywhisker had shown him, he bypassed the passcode and opened the list of contacts.

There were about fifty numbers saved to names, meaning that he wasn't ARS. He had seen an ARS phone before and knew that they wiped their phones on an almost daily basis to prevent being tracked. He scrolled through a couple of them, though he stopped when a name caught his eye.

He groaned.

"Poppyfrost sent you, didn't she?"

The boy nodded, working himself to a sitting position against the wall. 'You know her?"

"Let's just say she's...not the best of roommates."

The boy was very confused as Dusty continued to scroll through until he came across an account with the name "Cranky Old Man, Enemy of All Things Positive."

"Who's this?" he said, showing his victim the contact. "N-No one important!" he said, his eyes widening.

So Dusty dialed the number. It rang four times before a man on the other end picked up.

"_Fang here. Whatcha got?_"

"Mr. Fang, My name is Dustleap. I've become aware that you've sent someone to try and track me."

On the other end, he heard something made of glass break and a punch land on the surface of the table.

"_If you did anything to the boy, I swear to God-_"

"Not to worry, sir. He's not dead. In fact, he should be standing straight in...about an hour."

"_Kid,_" snarled Fang in a voice that made him sound like the boy's pissed off father, "_I swear to God on high if you hurt Sunfield, I will rip you apart limb by fucking limb._"

Dusty decided to move on. "What do you want from me?"

"_What?_"

"You sent a…'spy' of sorts to get information. Although I reacted harshly, I'm willing to look past this incident and help you out."

Fang paused on the other line in momentary consideration.

"_Are you familiar with the Assassins of the Rising Sun?_"

Dusty froze.

"Y-Yes. Why?"

"_We need information. My superior has made me aware that we're hunting the same target. It would be beneficial for both of us to help each other out._"

Dusty wasn't quite ready to greenlight this. "I have my motivation for hunting down ARS. What reason do you have to even be interested in them."

"_We're giving refuge to one of their liberated prisoners. She said that she was...she was raped when she was held captive._"

That was all Dusty needed.

"I'll be there in twenty."

"_But you don't know where we are!_"

"I'll figure it out. I have your spy's phone, remember?"

"_Fine. But come alone and with the boy._"

Fang hung up and Dusty turned to face the boy.

"So, _Sunfield_," he said, squatting and looking him dead in the eyes, "We're gonna go on a little adventure, but I need to ask you a few questions."

He glanced at the ragged Metallica shirt he was wearing.

"Name all of the members from Guns & Roses and every song from the Black Album."

Sunfield raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Yeah," he smirked, "Just a test to make sure you're in your right mind-"

"The current members of Guns & Roses are Axl Rose, the lead vocalist, Slash, the main guitarist, Michael McKagan, who's the backup guitarist and bassist, Dizzy Reed, who does keyboard, Frank Ferrer, who does drums and Melissa Reese, who's just there. The songs from the Black Album are Enter Sandman, Sad but True, Holier Than Thou, The Unforgiven, Wherever I May Roam, Don't Tread on Me, Through the Never, Nothing Else Matters, Of Wolf and Man, The God That Failed, My Friend of Misery and The Struggle Within."

Dusty stared, silent.

Sunfield smirked. "What, you thought I would be signed up for Advanced Band and know nothing about music?"

"No…" said the boy, "It's just backwards black hat makes you look like you listen to Billie Eilish as a guilty pleasure."

"EXCUSE ME?!" he snapped as Dusty got up, "SHE IS A DISGRACE TO THE MUSIC INDUSTRY! THE ONLY REASON SHE WINS ALL THOSE AWARDS IS THAT THE PRODUCER MAKES THE SONGS SOUND 'EXPERIMENTAL!'"

"Amen," said Dusty, helping Sunfield, "Now, do you have a ride?"

"I have a bike…"

"Great," said Dusty, shoving him to the entrance, "You lead the way. You have directions."

* * *

"Don't forget to straighten your back," said Mallowleaf, adjusting the 15-lb weight on Seashell's spine. She lowered her glutes slightly and continued doing push-ups, knowing she was close to her goal.

"You guys need a vacation," said Hazeltail, who was watching the two work out while sipping a beer. Most of everyone was downstairs, either obnoxiously cheering at a March Madness game or a Mortal Kombat competition, Ashtooth and Daffodil were out doing shooting practice, Dusty was doing some after-school thing probably with the guy he denied he has but very obviously has a crush on and Jaywhisker had locked himself in the basement the moment he got home from school. Mallowleaf had mentioned a project he was working on, though she had no idea what it could possibly be.

"Well, I guess you could say that we're not used to being in the loud house," retorted Mallowleaf as Seashell picked up the pace on her push-ups.

"Yeah," shrugged the girl, finishing her beer and slouching in her chair, "Foxleap should have probably given you a warning about what you were in for when he made you move in with us. We're certainly a rowdy bunch."

'You can say that again,'' muttered Mallowleaf as the living room erupted into cheers, Seashell barely picking up Berrynose screaming in protest and calling cheating.

"500!" called Seashell, shouldering the weight off of her back and lying on the ground, shakily wiping her face off with Mallowleaf's towel.

"Nice work," said Mallowleaf, helping her up before turning back to Hazeltail, "So how do you do it? Put up with these loudmouths?"

"It's a difficult process," she said after a moment, "But after a while, you sort of tough it out a bit. When I first moved in, I spent most of my time boarded up in my room with cotton in my ears and books in my hand when I wasn't at school. I was the hermit of the group, quiet and distancing myself from everyone like the COVID-19 pandemic from freshman year was still forcing everyone to avoid each other."

"Oh?" said Mallowleaf as she began doing sit-ups while Seashell held her feet, "What changed, then?"

Hazeltail shifted in her chair, crossing her legs and hand drifting in front of her face, "Then, Cinderheart came to visit me one day. I was very quiet but when I figured out we were into the same things, we talked for hours. Don't think I've had a better friend since. She sort of went my speed and inducted me into the group and they did the rest. They showed me how..._fun_ life can really be. I mean, yeah, we did stupid shit like beer and drugs, but we grew to love each other. It was like one big happy family. And when we…" she cleared her throat, "when we fought against Mapleshade, it was the driving factor on how we got out together. We were a team, the greatest there ever was when we needed to be."

"Nice story," said Mallowleaf, who was at and past thirty sit-ups before Hazeltail finished.

She finished the workout in silence, hitting 100 sit-ups very quickly. Afterwards, the two dried off and prepared to invade Dusty's private shower in the penthouse.

"Before you go…" said Hazeltail, stopping the two.

"We're good people," she said, smiling, "We've been through a lot, just like you. I think we'll get along just fine."

Mallowleaf just nodded briefly while Seashell smiled. "Thank you, Hazeltail."

"That get through to any of you?" muttered Mallowleaf once they were a safe distance away.

"Not really," said Seashell as they entered Dusty's room, "But she did have a point. Maybe if we stop deliberately separating ourselves from the people we live, we can let ourselves grow! Hell, these people have supernatural powers from what Coalstrike told me!"

"Listen," she said, taking her workout shirt off and looking Seashell in the eye, "I know you want to be proactive, but the last time we were put in this corner, you and Coalstrike almost got killed. I can't let that happen to you again."

"I know, but...maybe this is different."

Mallowleaf looked on sympathetically as a twinkle of sadness entered her eyes.

"I want it to be different too."

Mallowleaf left to take her shower as Seashell returned to her room, a lot on her mind.

But the sight she saw when she entered her room did not help at all.

Coalstrike was sitting on the side of the bed in his underwear, guzzling down an extra large bottle of whiskey amid the shattered glass of other finished bottles and shaking from the wrists. The wall was punched open, fist-sized holes decorating the entire east wall, various papers had been ripped into unintelligible pieces and littered across the room and an open bag of cocaine was spilled across the desk, coating the surface with what looked to be fake snow manufacturers put in snowglobes.

"_What the hell is this?!_" she snapped at Coalstrike.

He slowly turned to face him, his eyes red and his face gaunt with terror. Immediately Seashell went from pissed to terrified, running over to him and taking his hands.

"What happened?" she said.

"I...I-I…" shuddered Coalstrike, "I...s-s-saw him…"

"_Who?_" she whispered.

"_I-Inferno…_" he rasped dryly.

And Seashell understood. It wasn't just a relapse.

This was a panic attack.

Seashell took the poor boy into his arms as he bawled his eyes out, dropping the bottle and sobbing into her sweaty shoulder. The embrace didn't cease for over ten minutes before Coalstrike finally calmed down.

"Honey," she whispered gently, "It was only a dream. You have nothing to worry about."

"_I-It felt so real!_" he stuttered, "_He was stabbing you open with a dagger! I couldn't do anything! I couldn't save you…_"

"Come here," she said, holding him close, "You don't need to worry about Inferno anymore. He doesn't know where you are. He's not gonna find you."

"B-B-But th-think of a-all the p-people he killed!"

"Everything's gonna be okay, my love," she said, wiping away the tears on his dirty face, "I promise."

She leaned in and kissed him. Gently, softly but enough to soothe him and let him slump back down onto the bed.

"Would you like me to go to the pharmacy later?" she said as Coalstrike shuffled under the covers again.

"Yeah…"

"Alright, I'll make a run tomorrow. I'm gonna go shower and then I'll be right back."

She left the room quietly, closing the door silently and hitting the lights. When she was out in the hallway, she slumped against the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

Coalstrike _very rarely_ broke down like this. In fact, ever since the two of them had joined the resistance, Coalstrike had never broken the facade as an aggressive stern-faced tactician in front of anyone. Not Dusty, not Mallowleaf, not even Ashtooth, his practical brother from another mother. The only time he ever broke down since they met was in the bedroom and in her arms.

She was the only person that he ever showed weakness to. Ever. And somedays, especially today, it felt like a couple semi trucks had been added to the already almost unbearable weight on her shoulders.

Seashell had somehow fallen in love with the most complicated, conflicted and mentally messed up man she could ever possibly conceive.

And even then, she still loved him. Just as much as he loved her.

Love was a confusing thing. Especially when the two shared such a tight bond after the trauma they had been through.

Put two other people in the situation and they probably would have not given a shit about each other.

So why them?

She saw Berrynose come out of the bathroom and she occupied it, locking the door and getting in the shower. She had a lot to process today.

* * *

"COME ON!" snapped a man in a black suit, coming back from a search, "How could they possibly go off the grid like that? It can't be that hard to find a recent rape victim, right?"

"Well," said Crow, pacing in front of a table filled with marked pictures, "We know they're nearby. The Riven security footage that got them is too real to be fabricated. Also she was with a CIA agent."

"The hell does that mean?"

"Means he's an aficionado at what America does best," he retorted snarkily.

"So...running and hiding."

"Exactly."

"Ugh."

Crow sat under the roof of a canopy tent with three other members of the strike team. They had spent all day in Riven, slowly picking the place apart to try and find Icecloud. They had hoped to catch them moving from a city to another and cut them off there, but wherever they were hiding, they were holed up good. They had quietly searched every business and abandoned building in the district with no luck at all.

They were completely off the map.

"So when did Sky start making you head of strike teams?"

Crow shrugged. "I dunno. Probably a one time thing, hopefully something like a promotion is in order."

"Really?" he said disbelievingly, "With _you_? I doubt it."

"I appreciate your confidence in my leadership skills."

"Just saying," said the man, throwing his hands in the air, "You've been doing really well at playing contract negotiator."

"I guess, but it's still something I can at least hope for."

"Fair enough."

"Guys," said a woman, typing on a laptop and pulling up something, "I got something."

Crow and the man walked over, taking a seat next to her. "Whatcha got?"

"I tapped into the phone communications over the last hour and I got something in Riven that you should hear."

Crow listened closely as the woman opened and started a playback.

"_We need information. My superior has made me aware that we're hunting the same target. It would be beneficial for both of us to help each other out._"

"_I have my motivation for hunting down ARS. What reason do you have to even be interested in them?_"

"_We're giving refuge to one of their liberated prisoners. She said that she was...she was raped when she was held captive._"

"I listened to the rest of the call. The older male is named Fang, some sort of position of power nearby, and the boy is named-"

"Dustleap."

The two others stared at Crow. "How do you know that?"

"I was on assignment in Lindisfarne. He's one of the soldiers that fought back."

''So?"

"The resistance is here."

Silence.

"You have a location?"

"Yeah," said the woman, pulling a map with a coordinate, "Somewhere deep in the abandoned section of tow."

The three looked at each other for only a moment before rushing to suit up. The woman called the other members of the strike team back, saying that they had a location and were ready to move in.

Crow smiled to himself. They came for Icecloud, but they now had the possibility of walking away with something much more.

* * *

But twenty minutes later, they still had nothing.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure that this was the right location?" pressed Crow.

"Yes!" she snapped back, "I don't understand! The call took place here!"

"Maybe they used a jammer?"

"They did, but it was an easy one to decode! This is the location they gave me!"

"Then where could they be?"

In response, one of the soldiers shouldered him and pointed about fifteen meters down.

A man in a sweater vest and a nametag was climbing out of a manhole. He looked to be clean, even for entering a sewer.

Crow strolled over, gesturing for the team to stay out of sight.

"Excuse me, sir."

The man turned around and looked right down the barrel of Crow's silenced gun. His hands went up immediately and he freaked out.

"WAIT WAIT! DON'T SHOOT! PLEASE! TAKE MY WALLET! YOU CAN HAVE MY KEYS TOO! I HAVE A WIFE AND KIDS! PLEASE DON'T SHOOT!"

"I have a question to ask you," said Crow, advancing forward and pressing the gun to his forehead, "Where is Fang?"

"H-He's in the court! At the end of the marketplace!"

"And how does one get into said marketplace?"

"Y-You can't! You have to be searched and accepted by the queen-"

Crow cocked his gun.

"B-BUT YOU CAN USE THE SIDE ENTRANCE! IT'S IN THE SEWER! THE FIRST DOOR TO THE LEFT!"

"There we go," he said, lowering the gun, "That's all."

"W-Wait…" said the man, relieved for his life, "Y-You're not gonna kill me?"

"Well, _I _won't."

Crow whipped around and fired a tranq dart right into the man's forehead. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. The team emerged from the shadows and gathered around Crow.

"Dispose of the body," he ordered, "Then lock and load. We have a marketplace to raid."

* * *

**And so begins an elaborate relay race.**

**Crow's about to raid the Court of Miracles, but you won't hear it from me. The raid will be happening on The New Era. Subsequently, we will go back and forth with the following arc, about three chapters or so each.**

**Then I get my popcorn as Jay enters his final arc.**

**And trust me when I say that it's going to kick major ass.**

**So like always, enjoy.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	19. A Girl Worth Fighting For

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING FOR**

* * *

As the sun set on the island, two motorcycles screamed down the interstate leading out of the city at full speed, heading towards Riven.

"FOXLEAP!" roared Poppyfrost into the comms while trying to keep the vehicle stable at 110 miles per hour, "GIVE ME A RUNDOWN!"

"I did a search of all the cams you got," said Foxleap, who had hacked into the Court's security software, "I see eight bogeys, three sweeping in the market, one on the roof outside the warehouse and four in the warehouse. They got hostages, too. This was definitely a planned attack."

"HOW MANY?" shouted Ivypool, who was driving the second motorcycle at the same speed.

"Yeesh," hissed Foxleap in worry, "They got one of the corners filled. We're talking...almost a hundred."

Poppyfrost clamped down harder on the throttle in fury. "ANYTHING ON FANG? BRIGHTHEART?"

"No," said Foxleap after a moment, "They're gone. Off the grid. No bodies from what I've seen, though."

"They're not dead," she said decisively, "Probably regrouping somewhere."

"How are we going to deal with the hostages?" said Jayfeather, who was sitting behind Poppyfrost while Lionblaze was behind Ivypool.

"Foxleap!" said Lionblaze, "Did they say anything about what they want?"

"No," said Foxleap, "Cams picked up nothing. My guess is that this is a provocation of some sort."

"Is there _any_ way to figure out if this is a trap?" pressed Jayfeather.

"CAN YOU TWO **SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME DRIVE?!**" snapped Poppyfrost, shutting everyone on the comm line quiet immediately. The brothers shared a worried look. They had seen Poppyfrost mad since the timeskip but they had never seen her this pissed off.

Though she had every right to. Her people were in danger.

The ride was completed in silence. The two exited into Riven, hid the motorcycles in a secluded place and moved out, following Poppyfrost's instructions to the warehouse district where the hostages were being held.

"So what's the plan?" whispered Ivypool, loading her pistol.

"They know we're coming, so there's no point in being secret about it," muttered Jayfeather, putting his ponytail up, "But we can't just charge in right away and get shot at before we can secure the hostages."

"So we need a diversion," said Lionblaze, now emanating a light shade of orange, "How do we do that?"

Poppyfrost stared at the brute intently.

"You're bulletproof, right?"

Lionblaze either smiled, grimaced or both. "That answers that question."

So as Jayfeather, Ivypool and Poppyfrost got to their position, Lionblaze stood at the front door, waiting for the cue. He hated being used as a human shield, but there were countless hostages being held, some of them possibly being children.

Orange rays were seeping off of his skin like steam from a pot of boiling water.

"Alright," said Ivypool over comms after a minute of radio silence, "We're in position."

Lionblaze nodded.

"Let's kick some ass."

It took one punch for the once secure metal door to fly off the hinges and slide twenty feet across the ground. Lionblaze stormed in, expecting gunfire.

Nothing.

Shadows painted the floors and walls amid the rising sun. It was only when he heard the quiet cries and whimpers from the hostages that he began to slowly approach the group huddled in the corner.

Lionblaze was on edge, keeping an eye out for someone sneaking up on him until the group came into view.

"Lion, what the hell is going on?" hissed Jayfeather into the comms.

"I got the hostages," he said, looking at the cluster of about ninety people in the corner. They were curled into balls, shaking and absolutely petrified. But no bogeys were in sight.

But after a moment of observation, he noticed something strange.

"They're...dripping wet," he muttered.  
"Wet?" said Poppyfrost, confused, "Why would they go through the sewers? The side entrance was blocked off."

Idly aware of a strange smell flowing through his nose, Lionblaze cautiously reached forward and held out his hand to one of the hostages, who looked at him with fearful eyes.

"It's okay," he said gently, "I'm here to help."

"A TA TA TA TA TA TA!" said a female voice from a balcony above, making Lionblaze jump back and flare up in orange light, "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to do that."

The sun's final rays cast on a woman in black holding a grenade over the crowd, who was now muttering and whimpering.

"What the hell do you want?" snarled the brute, hands balled into fists.

"I want _you_," said the woman, "To stop trying to scare the children with your light tricks and get on your knees, or else you're gonna need to replace some fire alarms in the near future."

Subsequently, Lionblaze felt two gun barrels prod opposite sides of his head. He was not scared that he would get killed in the slightest, but when he connected the dots, he complied and got on his knees, putting his hands up.

The hostages weren't drenched in water.

They were drenched in gasoline.

"Now," said the woman on the balcony, "before we send you to hell first-class, we're gonna need that comm of yours."

One of the gunmen reached into his right ear and ripped out the tiny device, making him flinch, and threw it on the ground, smushing it under his boot.

As the woman radioed in to her superior, Lionblaze glanced out into the crowd of hostages. They looked to be independent shopkeepers and workers, but some men were holding their fearful wives and children and he saw one or two pregnant women among the group.

His blood was boiling now.

"Yes, Crow," said the woman, hanging up before looking down at him.  
"It's a shame," she taunted, "I know that feeling of being just a _smidge_ too late. Sucks, doesn't it?"

She nodded, and the gunmen fired five shots each, causing the brute to fall face-first into the concrete and the crowd to scream in terror.

"There are others," she said to the gunmen, "Find them and don't hold back."

One of them nodded and rushed out the main entrance, but another was unfortunate enough to notice that there was no blood. He leaned over and brushed away the hair where the bullets landed to see that there was no wound where the bullets should have pierced.

Immediately, Lionblaze's hand grabbed his throat and he struggled pathetically as the breath and life was squeezed out of him and the brute got to his feet, the sensation of a headshot feeling nothing more than walking into a sturdy door.

"_What?!_" snapped the woman.

"You want to send me to hell?" he snarled, "Well, you're coming with me."

The brute squeezed harder and harder until he crushed the gunman's neck and throat with one hand. A brutal sign of his otherworldly strength.

But unfortunately, he forgot about the grenade until he heard the latch removed and the explosive tossed from the balcony.

"**NO!**"

He took off, planning to catch the explosive and take the blow until a bright blue aura engulfed the bomb, stopping it in mid-air.

**BOOM!**

The sound of the explosion rang through the chamber, but the grenade remained contained in it's mysterious barrier, the outsides of the grenade being incinerated into shrapnel and the fire and brightness of the explosion being condensed to the point where it looked like a neutron star.

Lionblaze looked to his left and saw Jayfeather, who had rushed in from the side window, holding out his glowing hands and straining to contain the explosion.

By now, the woman thought now was a good time to get the fuck out, but as she ran down the balcony Jayfeather was quicker, flinging the contained grenade explosion in her path and releasing the barrier. The explosion flung the woman off the balcony and down three stories to the concrete floor. The brothers could hear her spine shatter as clear as day.

In a white blue, Ivypool rushed in, tending to the hostages quickly as Poppyfrost, as pissed off as ever, stormed and stood over the handicapped soldier.

"They're…"she gurgled, wincing in pain, "They're...here-"

Poppyfrost drew her sword and decapitated her in one swipe before she could finish her sentence.

Lionblaze tended to his brother, who was bent over and panting. "You good?"

"That was the most badass thing I've ever done," he wheezed, wiping sweat off of his brow, "but I'm never doing that again."

"Fair enough," he smirked as Poppyfrost joined them, eyes now slits.

"No injuries," said Ivypool after a couple minutes of healing the injured, "but they're drenched in gasoline. They're still a danger as long as ARS knows their location."

"Foxleap," barked Poppyfrost into her comm, "Anything on Fang and Brightheart?"

"I…" said Foxleap amid static, "I think...have…"

Suddenly, the transmission cut out, and the fake silky voice Foxleap had programmed into the comms said that they had been disconnected from the Foxcave.

"Shit," muttered Ivypool, fiddling with the contraption on the bridge of her ear.

"Sorry to cut your coverage so abruptly…"

The group whirled around to see a man with handsome black hair and a scarred face, holding a jammer high in the air.

He clipped the box onto his belt and pulled out a pistol and throwing knife.

"...but this show isn't suitable for the general public."

* * *

There was only one time before today where Jack Graves had ever run this fast.

His very first assignment in the CIA was an emergency deployment to JFK. A bomb had been detected in one of the concourses and the terrorists had planted the detonator in the back pocket of a five-year-old boy. The bomb squad had said that they needed the detonator to remain in range and untampered, so the moment he had gotten to the airport, he had to sprint past guards, customers and staff as fast as he possibly could to stop the family from leaving the airport or the boy noticing the new toy in his khaki pocket.

It was the fastest he had ever run in his life, and he just barely managed to stop them from getting out the door. Despite how close he cut it, he had helped save thousands of lives that day.

But as he and Icecloud sprinted down the Riven sidewalks to Fang's location, he feared that he would lose so much more if he failed this mission.

"How…" panted Icecloud, rapidly losing stamina, "How close are we?"

"We're close," he said, glancing down the hallway.

"I gotta say…" she rasped, "This...is not the reunion I wanted to have when...you came back from America…"

"I don't know…" he said, smirking in spite of his predicament, "There was one specific homecoming in high school which I didn't particularly enjoy."

"Hm…" smirked Icecloud back, "You have some explaining to do...when we get out of this mess…"

Jack returned her glance.

And in a stupid rookie move, his awareness wavered as he grabbed Icecloud's hand.

That prevented him from seeing the arm of an ARS soldier camping the corner of one of the alleyways to reach out his arm and horsecollar him to the concrete. He lost his breath the moment he hit the ground and his head bounced off the hard surface.

The soldier, draped in all black, planted a foot on Jack's chest and whipped out double pistols, aiming one at Jack's face and the other at Icecloud.

"Don't you fucking move," he snarled.

Icecloud was about to react, but after a glance from Jack telling her to remain still, she slowly put her hands up, her body shaking.

"Crow," said the soldier, "I got her."

"_Good,_" said the man at the other end, "_Is Graves with her?_"

"Yes."

"_Kill him._"

"Yes, sir."

_**BANG!**_

The soldier fell to the ground, a bullet from Icecloud's Magnum .357 lodged in the back of his skull.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" said Jack, groaning and working himself to a sitting position.

"To be honest, I have no idea," she said, helping her boyfriend up, "You hurt?"

"I'll live."

"You better. Now let's get moving."

Jack was about ready to take off again until Icecloud looked at the side of his head.

"What?"

"GET DOWN!" she said, taking him down and covering him.

Moments later, a sniper shot blasted through the area, but hit the window a good three stories above them.

This was followed shortly by the body of an ARS soldier falling down from the roof of the fifteen-story building across the street from them, holding a shattered AK-47.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OUTSIDE?!" called the voice of a certain brute.

Fang was rushing down the fire escape of the abandoned apartment building, armed with brass fisticuffs and a furious war face.

"Is ARS nearby? What happened to Warehouse 29?"

"Hostage situation," he growled, "I was going to help out there."

Icecloud seemed to be deep in thought about something.

"You're bleeding," observed Fang.

"I noticed," snipped Jack.

"You don't think that you'll be walking straight for five minutes after that kind of hit, do you?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Christ," he said, rubbing his eyes, "Are all Americans as egotistically stupid as you?"

"Hey!" he snapped, "I am a CIA agent. I'm one of their top agents, actually! I was meant for something like this."

"Meant for what? Tripping and falling on the sidewalk?"

"They can't kill me…"

"_What?!_" said Jack and Fang, looking up from their bickering.

Icecloud looked up at them, resolve in her eyes. "They can't kill me because they're trying to kidnap me again. Whatever they need me for is important enough to me to stay under their control and alive…"

"Yeah?" said Jack.

"Kid," snapped Fang, "I know exactly what you're thinking. It's too dangerous."

Icecloud looked up at the brute. "It's all we've got, isn't it?"

She turned to Jack. "Can you forgive me for what I'm about to do?"

"Icecloud," he said, his eyes wide with uncertainty, "I have no idea what you're about to do, but please don't do it."  
"So you can. Great," she said before leaning in and kissing him. She held him there for a few moments before grabbing one of the pistols from the soldier she killed and running back, "Let's go!"

"You ever regret falling for her?" said Fang as the two brought up the slack behind her.

"Nah," he said, "She's a little wild sometimes, but I couldn't possibly love anyone else more."

* * *

But the second Crow blinked, Ivypool was right behind him, knife to his throat.

"You screwed up coming here," she snarled, "Get on your fucking knees before I slit your throat."

Crow hesitated a moment before setting the jammer in his hand fall to the ground and going down to his knees.

"Now," she growled, "I'll ask you once. Why did you come here?"

"Is this your first time holding someone hostage?"

"_What?_"

"Well, your hand is shaking."

Ivypool hesitated, which was more than enough time for Crow to grab her offending wrist and, quick as lightning, duck out of the way and stab her in the shoulder. She cried out in pain as Crow knocked her to the ground and put a bullet in her foot, landing a kick to the head to knock her out.

He whipped around to see the queen charging him, but when he pointed his gun at an oil tank near the gas-drenched hostages, she stopped in her tracks, holding the tip of her sword out until it was inches away from his throat.

"You wanna risk it?" he said with a smirk, "I've got a pretty fast hand."

Poppyfrost stared him down, fire in her eyes, before releasing her threatening stance.

"They're faster, though."

Crow only realized what this meant when he failed to move his arm, the hand wielding his gun stationary in blue light. Lionblaze charged and sent a flying kick into his gut, knocking all of the air out of him and sending him sprawling and sliding about thirty feet away.

"I got this," said Lionblaze, "Get the hostages out of here." Jayfeather nodded and ran to the pile of civilians, working his powers to dry them of the gas and getting them out of the warehouse.

The brute charged again, but before he could land a decisive haymaker, Crow got his breath back and rolled away, on his feet and ready to fight again.

But every time Lionblaze swung from then on, Crow dodged and didn't bother to try hitting back. He ducked out of punches, sild out of kicks and kept his distance. Lionblaze was getting more and more frustrated by the second.

"CARE TO HELP ME OUT?" he snapped at Poppyfrost, whose attention was on Jayfeather getting the hostages out. The moment the last hostage was out of the warehouse, she snapped to attention, grip on her rapier tightening, and charged, slashing the assassin's arm and making him stumble.

Lionblaze headbutted him to the ground, causing blood to fly from his shattered nose and his head bounced off the ground.

Poppyfrost pressed the blade of her sword against his throat. "_Who are you?_" he growled.

Crow was hyperventilating. This was obviously not what was supposed to happen.

"I've come to save a life," he snarled eventually, "And I don't intend for anyone to be in my way."

"Well, that's just too bad, isn't it?" she chastised, raising her sword to deliver the killing blow.

"_Don't mess with my people_."

_**BANG!**_

Out of nowhere, a shotgun shell blasted right through Poppyfrost's arm, making her scream and fall to the ground, her sword clattering against the concrete next to her.

Behind Crow, the soldier Lionblaze let go lowered his shotgun.

Lionblaze burst into a vibrant orange flame, not far off from Goku, and charged, letting out a terrifying battle cry as the soldier desperately reloaded to try and defend himself.

But in an instant, that roar changed into a cry of pain as he stumbled to a halt, grimacing and crouching.

Crow was behind him, blood covering the lower half of his face and throwing knives at the ready. The moment the brute tried to get up, two more knives pierced his back and with a wail, the brute fell to his knees, his back drenched in blood and his muscles contracting in pain.

"So you do bleed…" taunted Crow, who grabbed the rapier off of the ground near him, smeared the blood pouring from his nose and stood over Lionblaze, ready to strike.

"Like I said," he growled, aiming for the neck, "No one stands in my way."

"I do."

Suddenly, a girl's hand grabbed the blade of the sword and wrenched it out of Crow's grip, sending it several feet away. Crow whipped around in rage to see a completely unexpected sight.

It was Icecloud.

Holding a Magnum .357 against her own head.

"Go ahead," she smirked, "I dare you."

* * *

"SHIT!" said Foxleap as the power went out, "JAY! GET THE BACKUP GENERATOR!"

"ON IT!" he said, disappearing into the back room with a phone flashlight.

Foxleap pounded the table in blind frustration. Something had gone wrong with the comms. He had tried everything he could to reestablish a connection with the team, but nothing was working. ARS must have had a jammer on hand. That was the only way the interference could be explained.

He had been monitoring the cameras for the ten minutes since communication went down. Jayfeather had taken care of the hostages, but Crow, the leader of the operation, had knocked down Ivypool faster than anybody could have expected. It had definitely gotten him on edge, so he hoped that everything was okay over there.

Oh, who was he kidding? They were the _Three_. They had awesome powers, a badass queen by their side and the best technology that anyone could possibly have.

A loud whirr emitted from the back room as Jaywhisker got the backup generator up and running. The Foxcave flickered back to life, the computer screens rebooting as the cameras popped back up onto the monitors.

Foxleap zoomed in on the main warehouse camera.

He froze.

Oh God.

Ivypool was still knocked out, bleeding out from the bullet wound in her foot.

Poppyfrost was hanging on to consciousness as best she could, blood streaming from a massive gash in her arm.

Lionblaze was on his knees, writhing and groaning as four long throwing knives impaled his back, exploiting his single weakness.

And standing in front of Crow, her own gun pointed at her head…

...was Icecloud.

Foxleap's breathing escalated. This was impossible.

"JAY!" he shouted, "WHERE'S ICECLOUD?!"

"Right here."

Foxleap froze, ice in his veins as he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his head.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," snarled Fir, undoing the safety and cocking the pistol.

Very slowly, Foxleap raised his hands in surrender.

This was not going according to plan.

* * *

**Yes. I'm an unreliable writing buddy. I know. You don't have to tell me.**

**I apologize for the delay. Some personal issues came up that I couldn't avoid, so if this chapter, especially the back half, feels forced, I apologize.**

**But Jay holds the reins once again. I trust he'll do wonders with it like last time.**

**I can't wait for it.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	20. Mercy

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**MERCY**

* * *

**(continues from Chapter 44 of Warriors: The New Era)**

For once, the Foxcave was quiet.

Fir had Foxleap, hyperventilating with simmering rage, pinned to his corner by the barrel of her pistol as she stared down Jaywhisker with a malicious glare.

"Take one step," she threatened, "And you'll be cleaning his blood off the monitors."

Jaywhisker nodded, hands instinctively in the air. "Yeah...I-I got that."

"Good," she growled, turning back to Foxleap, "As for you, if you ever want to see your sister again, you're gonna show me your little projects. Everything you've done and plan to do in this little hermit house of yours."

"_It's not a hermit house,_" snarled Foxleap, who shut up as Fir shoved the barrel against the back of his head.

"Files, please. I will not ask nicely again."

Foxleap hesitated before opening up his file explorer and opening a .exe application, which showed a loading screen for a couple moments before prompting for a password.

"Shit…" muttered Foxleap, hands hovering over the keyboard.

Fir sighed. "You forgot the password. That's how this ploy goes, right?"

"Give me a second," said the redhead, hand idly shuffling through some papers on the desk and opening some empty drawers.

"This is awkward," he muttered, "Can you check the second drawer down on the left?"

"You mean the trap drawer rigged with liquid nitrogen?"

Foxleap froze.

"Okay, how the hell do _you_ know about that?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"Alright, alright," said Foxleap, hands moving back to the keyboard as he shot a pleading glance to Jaywhisker.

He typed a word into the keyboard. Red text appeared under the prompt saying the password was incorrect. The genius let out a noise of poorly acted confusion and tried again.

"Caps Lock is on," said Fir irritably after the third try.

"Oh," said Foxleap quietly, "Whaddaya know? You're right."

Fir cocked the pistol, making Foxleap flinch and hit the Caps Lock key.

"HEY!" she shouted to her left, making Foxleap flinch and whip over.

Jaywhisker was frozen in place, a beer in his left hand. "What?"

"Put the drink down."

"What, a guy can't have a drink while his friend is being held hostage?"

Fir raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever been in a hostage situation before? Actually, don't answer that. Just put down the goddamn drink."

"Can I just finish the can? I promise I'll recycle it after!"

At her patience's end, Fir fired a bullet into one of the monitors just above Foxleap.

"JAYWHISKER, PUT DOWN THE FUCKING BEER!" snapped the redhead, pissed off at his useless antics and how they weren't currently working to save his life.

"Alright, fine," muttered the boy, very slowly setting the half-empty can on the table, the button with the label "Emergency Activation" turned away from Fir.

"There we go," said the woman, "Now, the password."

_**CLANG!**_

Fir and Foxleap turned back to Jaywhisker, whose hands were in the air amid the loud whirring coming from the back room.

"_What the hell was that?"_ snarled Fir, cocking the gun again.

Jaywhisker just smirked.

"Must have been the wind."

Suddenly, the back door flew open and Jaywhisker stuck out his palm. In seconds, his hand was encapsulated in the metal protection of his power glove and before Fir could compose herself and fire the killing shot, Jaywhisker fired a concussive beam at Fir's chest, sending her flying with a crash to the back wall.

One loud thud later, she slumped to the ground, dazed and disarmed.

Meanwhile, Foxleap could only watch as piece after piece of metal flew from the back room, self-assembling like a puzzle until there was not an inch of skin left visible. All that was left was a dark gray metal suit sensationalized by light blue strips of LED lights and a bright insignia of a bluejay on his chest.

"Stay down," he said threateningly at Fir, who almost matched the avid shock on display in Foxleap's face.

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU FINISH IT SO QUICKLY?!" screamed Foxleap.

"You think I was lying when I said I work best drunk? I haven't slept in six days."

"THAT'S NOT SOMETHING TO BRAG ABOUT!"

"It is right now," he said, shrugging him off and grabbing a quivering Fir by the collar of her shirt, hoisting her up.

"Talk," he said simply.

Fir wanted to resist, but realized that this was a lost cause. It was slowly dawning on her that she had too much to lose if she played stubborn.

"My name is Agent Fir," she started, "I'm a member of the Assassins of the Rising Sun. I was sent here to listen in and get as much information on the occupants of this house as possible."

"Who are you responding to?"

"My leader, Sky. She ordered me to do this in accordance with our alliance with Rock. Our primary objective is to secore Jack Graves by any means necessary. So I was chosen to impersonate the occupant closest to him. As well as the weakest."

Not a split second after, Fir was wrenched out of Jaywhisker's grip and he stumbled back to see Foxleap, holding her throat in a death grip and stuffing the pistol so far down her mouth that it tickled her uvula, making her choke.

He was _pissed_.

"_I will blow out your motherfucking brains,_" he snarled, ready to blow her to pieces as she choked on her own gun.

"Stop," said Jaywhisker suddenly.

"**WHAT?!**" snapped Foxleap at the younger boy, infuriated that he thought he could stand in his way.

"I got radio," he said, holding a finger to his right temple.

"_Foxleap!" shouted Jayfeather into the comm._

"This is Jaywhisker," he said, "What's going on?"

"_Listen to me! Icecloud is here! The Icecloud here is an imposter-_"

"We know," said Jaywhisker, glancing to the defeated assassin, "She's secured."

"_PLEASE!" shouted a voice in the background he didn't recognize, "LET ME TALK TO THEM!"_

_Jayfeather audibly groaned. "Get as much information as you can out of her. Then you can ki-"_

There was an audible scuffle on the other end. The next voice he heard was a voice she didn't recognize.

"_My name is Crow,_" said the voice, _"I'm a former member of the Assassins of the Rising Sun. Please don't hurt Fir! You can kill me or torture me all you like, but please have mercy on her! Let her live!"_

"Why should I?" Jaywhisker growled back, "She impersonated one of us and tried to kill us. What possible reason should we see for her mercy?"

"_T-This was supposed to be our last mission!_"

Jaywhisker did a double take. Even the people on the other end fell silent at that.

"_My mission was to get the real Icecloud back into captivity. This was not a mission I took on willingly! Since Fir went into hiding, Sky has been threatening to kill her if I don't do her bidding. I've been forced to be her puppet for the last three months! This was supposed to be the last time! She's offered us a way out of this life if we captured Graves. A lifestyle for us to settle down in hiding with each other. I know I'm an idiot for thinking that there was any legitimacy behind this claim and I know we've been cruel to you, but please listen to me when I say that I love her with all of my heart! She's an amazing strong woman that's been forced to put on masks and do cruel acts for years._"

The plea was a mess of desperation, but Jaywhisker wasn't so quick to dismiss it just yet.

"_Please,_" rasped Crow, who was now audibly sobbing, _"If you have any mercy left in your heart, please spare her. I know we've done you wrong, but all we wanted was to put this life behind and get our second chance."_

Fir's eyes were wide and tearing up at the voice of his boyfriend, and for a fleeting moment, Jaywhisker looked into her eyes and saw a raw plea for repentance.

"HA!" said Foxleap raucously, "YOU THINK YOU CAN IMPERSONATE AND ABUSE MY SISTER AND GET AWAY WITH IT?! THINK AGAIN!"

He prepared to fire.

But Jaywhisker was faster. He grabbed Foxleap by the shoulder and flung him with excessive force to the other side of the room, causing him to get a nasty bruise on his head and Fir to dissolve into a coughing spell as she regained breath in her lungs.

After a couple moments of shuffling and searching, Jaywhisker, still encased in his metal suit, grabbed a couple of zipties and after a couple moments of irritation at his enlarged metal hands, tied her wrists together.

"**WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!**" roared Foxleap, enraged that the boy was saving her life.

Jaywhisker just glanced up in the general direction of a certain room with blue walls and superhero posters.

"I think I'm sober," he said, his tone suddenly heavy and melancholy.

He disconnected the comm from his helmet and tossed it to Foxleap as he grabbed Fir and carried her upstairs in a fireman's carry.

He locked the door behind him.

"There's something you haven't told him, huh?" said Fir as Jaywhisker used a second ziptie to bind her to a leg of the kitchen table.

"What?"

In spite of everything, Fir smirked. "I'll be real, Crow isn't really the most persuasive guy in the world. The only reason you decided to spare me must be a personal secret or something, hm?"

"I'm not going to let you make me squeal about my past. You've made enough mistakes to not get that luxury."

"Just asking for the short answer."

Jaywhisker pressed a button on the suit's chest, causing the metal casing to open up and him to step up, his face heavy in grieving thought.

"Yes."

He grabbed the suit and carried it upstairs to the second floor, setting it next to the door.

He knocked, and moments later, Russ opened the door.

"Hi Jay!" he said cutely and excitedly.

The boy smiled genuinely for the first time in a good while.

"I want to show you something."

* * *

Business was always slow at two in the morning.

Axis wiped down the bar table, fighting away exhaustion for the fifth time. There were only two or three people in the bar, the quiet music from the seventies being the only background.

Stuffing his hand into one of the hidden shelves and turned up the volume of the television, which had the news on. He usually wasn't a fan of the news, but he was slowly growing tired of the cheesy ballads the jukebox played at this time of morning.

"_We have new developments regarding the shooting that took place in the warehouse district in Riven."_

Immediately, Axis tensed up and turned to look at the television.

The anchor babbled on about some death counts and suspect lists, but what got his attention was a security camera replay.

Two boys were seen running across the street and up a fire escape to the roof.

The camera zoomed in.

It was Dusty.

Axis stared in shock for a moment before running to the men's room, locking the door and pulling out his phone.

He dug up Dusty's number and dialed.

"_...yea?_" said Dusty on the other end, obviously waking up from this call.

"Why the hell were you in Riven?"

* * *

**And that's it from me.**

**Jay's got the finale of this collaborative arc. Keep an eye out. Because there's a lot of hard feelings coming up.**

**Funny. Jaywhisker was supposed to be the sarcastic techy who can't sleep. He's grown into so much more now. I'm going to enjoy showing you who he really is.**

**There's a good reason he spared Fir. Trust me.**

**Sorry for the short chapter. Longer chapter is coming up next. Promise.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	21. Fir

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**FIR**

* * *

_"Good morning. Today is December 22. Here is the news from around the island today."_

The news played in the background as Jane took the ramp down to the interstate. There wasn't much traffic on the roads, which was good. She would have time to get prepped for her meeting she had this morning.

She worked in a small group of market advisors just outside of Excelsio. It wasn't the best job and her office wasn't the biggest, but she at least had a nice view of the city and her paychecks were enough to pay the bills and keep food in the fridge. If someone were to ask her if she was content, she probably would have said no, but she would have agreed that she did feel an acceptable amount of fulfillment, even if her day was filled with a routine some would call tedious.

Wake up at six in the morning, eat some eggs on toast for breakfast and drive to work.

But while she was usually relaxed as she drove to work, today, her hands gripped the steering wheel a bit harder than usual. She had a big call today with a company down in Florida looking for their services. If she could land a contract with them, the company's profits would soar. Everyone would be able to get a raise.

Today, she couldn't mess up. Everything had to go perfectly. Her job probably wasn't at risk, but if the talks fell through, the company would definitely be losing a huge opportunity.

She sighed, turning up the radio to drown out her nervous thoughts.

_"Today, an exclusive interview with various citizens of Forrestlake claiming to have memories from a 'second timeline' where the world came to an end. Our leading experts will let us know if this is truth or myth and why."_

_ "We talk to the friends and families of the victims of the Central High School shooting in Minneapolis and hear their thoughts on why the government's lackluster activeness on gun control failed them."_

_ "And finally, we talk with our source on the White House on why talks with President Pence and King Salman II of Saudi Arabia fell through and what this means for the economy-"_

Jane shut off the radio. It was the days like this one that she questioned why she listened to the radio at all. Every source was so biased in some way that it was hard to get a reliable perspective. Almost everyone leaned left and even when she looked on sources of news from the right, they were almost just as ridiculous. It gave her a headache.

It was the same process. The President did something the left didn't like, they attack the President and the right, and the right retaliated by trying to be aggressive and firing back at the left. Impartiality felt like a rare fruit no one looked for at this point.

Well, at least the drama took her mind off of the stress of her job. The stress of her life, even.

When she moved back in with her parents after college, many thought that she had fallen into financial duress. The truth was she hadn't had the best relationship with them before her senior year, when she was accepted into the University of Michigan full ride. She was fantastic at marketing, graduating summa cum laude and getting opportunities all across the world. But all throughout, she felt guilty about the bad terms she had with her parents, who had been in poverty their entire lives. So she swore that before she took a job with a company with a huge name and got rich off of doing what she loved, she would help her parents out of poverty, get them into a nice retiring home and settle them down. She figured she owed it to them for managing to raise the rascal of a kid she was.

She smiled as she shifted into the next lane and prepared to get off the highway.

Suddenly, a Ford F150 soared past her in the lane to her left at full throttle and swerved across three lanes, t-boning a white Honda Odyssey and sending them crashing into the barrier blocking the north and south interstates. Jane gasped, got out of the exit lane and pulled over, turning on her warning lights and crossing the interstate to the crash scene, joined by several other witnesses.

The white van was on its side, and Jane could see the driver, a woman, slumped over, blood pouring out of her busted skull. It didn't take a doctor for her to realize that she had been killed. The airbag seemed to have malfunctioned and not deployed.

Suddenly, she heard a wail.

Then another.

"THERE ARE KIDS IN THE CAR!" she shouted at the other onlookers, who immediately helped her to pry the busted side door open. After about three minutes of pulling, they untangled the door from the frame and open up.

There was a girl, about thirteen or fourteen, who had been flung against the side window. She lay in a crumpled, silent mess, her head in a pool of blood. In the backseat was a boy, about nine, bawling his eyes out and holding a baby, about 18 months, who screamed in terror.

"It's okay!" called a man into the car, "We're here to help!"

After about three minutes of struggling, they got the boy and the baby to safety. The onlookers ran away from the scene to get the baby to safety while Jane was left to comfort the boy.

"M-Mama?" he whimpered, "W-Where's mam-ma?"

Jane swore she could feel her heart break, giving him a devastated look before holding him tight in a hug.

She only flinched when a red Corvette swerved right past the crash and into the open road. Jane whirled around and saw the car soar down the road, resisting the impulse to flip off the driver.

_**BOOM!**_

The car exploded with the force of a block of C4, sending pavement and shrapnel flying high into the air and causing cars in the opposite lane to swerve and crash into each other.

Jane immediately picked up the boy and ran. She needed to get out of here.

She ran back and down the exit lane amid screaming men and women, terrified about what was going on. A glance back told Jane that there were three more car fires amid the heavy traffic that the crash had started. She held the sobbing boy tighter as she ran down the road and towards the transit station, planning to take shelter there until this all calmed down.

That plan changed when a figure, dressed in all black and holding a semi-automatic rifle burst through the door and aimed right at her.

Instinct kicked is as Jane dropped the boy and stood in front of him.

She felt two bullets pierce her shoulder, the bones shattering immediately as she fell to the ground. The boy screamed in terror as she hit the pavement, the world suddenly getting darker and darker.

The last thing she felt was the boy shaking her, pleading for her to get up.

* * *

Jane didn't know when she woke up, but when she did, she was alone.

She couldn't move her shoulder, struggling to get to her feet as she looked around. The streets were quiet, save the chorus of ambulance and police sirens all around her.

She stumbled to her feet and into the transit station, down the stairs until she got to the bottom level, sliding to a seat inside the quiet bus stop.

Idly, she counted four bodies around her as she slowly bled out. She thought she could hear the Emergency Action System tone calling for an immediate Shelter in Place.

The world faded around her and she blacked out for what she thought would be the final time.

* * *

She woke up again in a large room.

She was on a bed, a bandage wrapped tightly around her shoulder and her arm in an immobilizer. She groaned, her eyes flying over and around her surroundings.

Jane lay in the middle of a large row of beds. From the corners of her eyes, she could see some more bodies. It appeared that she was the only one moving.

Slowly, she got to her feet, wincing at the pain of her shoulder, and looked around. There were hundreds of beds in the warehouse-like environment, most of them empty, and in the corner, there was an office-like section walled off from the rest of the room. She stumbled forward, trying as hard as she could to keep her impaired arm immobile as she approached.

She opened the door to what looked to be a doctor's office. Whitney Houston played in the background was a lady in her late twenties sitting at a desk.

"Oh, hello," she said, adjusting her glasses and looking up at her, "Jane, is it? Come have a seat."

She hesitantly sat down, bewildered beyond her mind.

"I'm glad to let you know," she said, grabbing a packet from a drawer, "that your application has been accepted. All you need to do is sign on the dotted line."

Jane just stared at the paper. "I...I don't remember applying for anything…?"

The secretary blinked for a beat before seemingly remembering something. "Ah...right. Well, your office at your workplace was one of the things that got blown up in the...attacks. So your parents contacted us and applied you to our financial recovery system. Rent, mortgage, room and board, all covered for you to get back on your feet."

Jane blinked at the packet. It seemed legit, but wouldn't they have told her about something like this?

Unless…

"W-What's the date?" she asked quietly.

The secretary hesitated before glancing at her calendar.

"It's January 4th, madam."

Jane gasped.

"I've been out for _two weeks_?"

The woman nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry if this is a lot for you."

Jane just stared at the papers.

"We want to help you, Jane," said the woman quietly, "We want to help everyone that was affected by this. We will help you, but only if you allow us to."

After a couple minutes of thinking, most thoughts fragmented and incomprehensible, she took in her situation. If the island had truly gone to the hell she barely remembered, then she should at least take the hand that she was offered. It didn't seem like she had any other choice.

She had been suitably backed into a corner. Whoever this lady was and whoever she represented, she was for now offering her a way out.

It probably wasn't the best choice, but for now, it was all she had.

"Got a pen?"

When she had signed the back page, Jane got up to leave.

"One more thing…" said that secretary.

"Yes?"

"This is a...coveted opportunity we're giving you. We can only accept so many people at a time and there have been times where others have stolen your identity to get the financial benefits you're receiving. So you'll need an alias. Nothing too fancy, but something to keep your identity hidden."

Jane thought a moment.

"How about Fir?"

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER...**

* * *

"This seat taken?"

Fir just shrugged, going back to her sandwich. As long as he didn't take up all of her lunch break, she didn't mind.

"Sorry," said the man, quite obviously flustered, "I'm...new around here and don't know many people."

"Better fix that fast," she smirked.

But a glance up at the awkward, anxious lip bite from the man that was caused from that almost made her regret saying that.

"So," she said, deciding after a few minutes of silence to make some conversation, "What's your story?"

"Hm?"

"What made you come running to ARS?"

"Well," he said, almost embarrassed, "I've been on the streets of Kansas City since I graduated from high school. Couldn't afford to go to college and had no friends to bunk with. My parents were looking around for jobs I could find to get some money, but all the job interviews would fall through. And then, after Forrestlake got bombed, they found this financial agency that was offering me a really nice paycheck and benefits. Of course, I thought it was too good to be true, so I went back to my minimum wage as a Walmart cashier until my dad died from cancer. So my mom pleaded me to try and get some money since we got scammed out of our life support and...here I am. The only reason I'm here is-"

"-because you got nowhere else to go," finished Fir, taking another bite out of her sandwich, "I get that. That's why a lot of people come around here."

"So what's your story?"

"Hm?" said Fir, glancing up.

"I mean, you look to have been here a long time. You look like you're used to the masks and all, so…"

"How perceptive of you," she smirked, making the man flinch and blush, "Well, I've been around for two years."

"How's you come here?"

Fir hesitated, the sandwich resting on the bridge of her mouth.

"To be honest, I think I was tricked," she said quietly, "I was in the bombings at Forrestlake, and when I woke up, ARS was right there to pitch me their offer. I mean, the money's great. I don't regret the finances since I never have to worry about money again, but…"

"You feel like there was a catch you didn't get?"

Fir looked up, eyes wide. "That's exactly what I was going to say!"

The man chuckled almost inadvertently.

"I mean," said Fir, "All I've done is work marketing for one of their sectors, but...it feels too easy. Like I'm losing something that I've forgotten I've had."

"Yeah," said the man, "Sucks, doesn't it?"

She finished her sandwich in silence just as her watch beeped, ending her lunch break.

"I gotta go," she said, slipping her mask on, "Nice talking to you."

"Thanks," he said, grinning before stopping her.

"Uh...what should I call you?"

It took a second for Fir to realize that she was glad he asked.

"Fir."

"I'm Crow," he said after a moment, shaking her hand, "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Crow."

And for some reason, the name wouldn't leave her head for the rest of the day. Even as she finished work for the day and got ready to drive to her apartment, he wouldn't leave her brain.

They clicked. That hadn't happened between her and another person in a long, long time.

Suddenly, as she entered the parking garage, she heard a beep in her earpiece.

"Fir, please report to Sky's office."

She went cold.

Oh God, no.

Sky's office was where jobs and people went to die. If the rumors were correct.

She almost lied and said that she had a business call, but wisely decided against it and walked back into the building and to her office.

"Hello, Fir," said the masked woman at her desk.

Even without a visible face, she looked terrifying. She nodded respectfully, taking a seat with her back straight with nervousness.

"No need to freak out," Sky said silkily, "After some consideration, we''ve decided to relocate you to the combat sector."

Fir gasped. "_Me?_"

Sky nodded. "Your former superiors have been informed. Now, you answer to me. Prepare for instructions on your new planning job in the morning."

Fir got up, still processing the information she had received.

"Good luck," she said, a smirk in her tone, "We trust that your work will benefit ARS greatly."

* * *

**Bonus chapter time!**

**This is a small insight on how Fir got to where she is now, as well as a glimpse into the complicated infrastructure that ARS is held by. I also hinted at ARS' master plan. Specifically in Chapter Fifteen for the perceptive ones.**

**(*cough* Jay *cough*)**

**Hope you enjoyed this bonus chapter! Jay is still responsible for the final chapter of the arc, so keep an eye out for an update from him soon!**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	22. Forgiveness

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**FORGIVENESS**

* * *

"How's it going?" asked Foxleap over Jaywhisker's shoulder for the nineteenth time.

"Nothing from the last time you've asked three minutes ago," snapped Jaywhisker, who was obviously at his wit's end. Foxleap didn't care. This was too important.

"Well, _hurry up_," he snarled, going back to pacing around the Foxcave.

It had been about an hour since the group had questioned Crow. He didn't have much help for him, but they had enough to begin tracking one of ARS' hotspots from near Riven. Even though Rock and Jack was their main priority, Foxleap needed to know where they were. He _needed _to get revenge for his sister.

It was the only way to compensate for the fact that he had failed her.

"What can we do to knock 'em down without giving them a chance to get back up?" muttered Foxleap aloud, "If we just assume that they have military-grade weapons, we'll have to use something that they're not prepared for."

Foxleap's eyes darted to Jaywhisker's suit, an idea forming in his head.

"What if we were to equip some more firepower to this bad boy?" he said out loud as he stood the suit of against the wall, "Like a proximity grenade launcher? A sub-machine gun? Laser eyes?"

Foxleap rubbed his hands together maliciously, a confident smirk on his face.

"Oh, they're a bunch of dead bitches now."

He turned to Jaywhisker. "Can you pull up the schematics for the suit? I wanna make some modifica-"

_**SLAM!**_

Foxleap froze as Jaywhisker slammed both his fists on the table in aggravation.

"ENOUGH. ABOUT. ARS." he snapped, turning to face him, "_You will not lay a selfish, grubby finger on my suit._"

"Or what?" growled Foxleap, getting in his face, "You better have had a good fucking reason for forcing us to spare that bitch who impersonated my sister. I should throw you out on the street right now just for that."

"It's _my _suit!" he retorted, refusing to back down, "You think that just because your tiny adolescent billionaire brain allowed me to do my work down here means that you can lay your hands on anything you want? I do what I want, you whiny prick. Get that through that concrete skull of yours."

Oh, he was going to get it now.

"LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" roared Foxleap, "YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO STAND IN MY WAY AFTER MY _SISTER_ WAS KIDNAPPED, TORTURED AND RAPED TO HELL AND BACK?! YOU WANT ME TO ACCEPT THAT AND MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE?! YOU SAID YOU WERE A SOLDIER, YOU FUCKING COWARD! BUT NO! YOU JUST SCAMPER ON DOWN HERE AND PULL ALL-NIGHTERS EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK AND NOTHING ELSE! AND YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN STAND IN MY WAY FROM GETTING THE REVENGE ICECLOUD NEEDS?!"

"How do you know that?"

Jaywhisker didn't even flinch.

"As far as I know, since Icecloud returned, all you've done is spend the last two hours waterboarding Fir with Coalstrike and trying to assimilate ARS. You haven't once talked to your sister proper, have you?"

Foxleap was stunned into silence.

"That's what I thought," growled the boy, "It truly is a miracle that you're even friends with anyone."

Jaywhisker stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him, leaving Foxleap to stand by himself, alone in his workshop.

Emotion pulsed through his body, making his hands shake and his face tense. Slowly, he moved to where Jaywhisker was sitting earlier, picked up the chair and sat at the computer. He opened the security footage to the hours before the raid on the Court and watched for the fifteenth time, trying to find the location from where the ARS agents the cameras caught came from.

"_I CAN DO THAT, FOXLEAP._"

Foxleap glanced up at Midnight, standing next to him.

"_IT SEEMS YOU NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE, AFTER ALL._"

Reluctantly, the redhead nodded, giving up his seat and taking the elevator up to the main floor. It was just past midnight. Berrynose was playing Half-Life 2, Lionblaze was having a beer with Ivypool, bandages draped around the brute's back, and Poppyfrost was on the phone, in the middle of an urgent conversation with someone at the Court. Her eyes were wide and red, as if she had been or was about to cry.

Foxleap took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on Icecloud's door.

"Come in."

He opened the door. Icecloud was sitting in a ball on the head of her bed, wearing underwear and a shirt two sizes too big. Next to her was Jack, who was shirtless and wearing a pair of black sweats. They looked to have been talking.

"Am I...interrupting something?"

"No," said Icecloud quietly. She glanced briefly to Jack, who nodded and left the room.

Foxleap took a chair from the desk and pulled it to the side of the bed, taking a seat next to Icecloud.

The two sat in silence for a couple of moments before Icecloud looked over to her brother.

"You're tearing up," she observed.

Foxleap broke, pulling Icecloud into a tight hug and sobbing into her shoulder. Icecloud flinched, but accepted the hug after a fex moments.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry…" murmured Foxleap shakily, "I h-have all t-this money, but I-I couldn't s-save you…"

Icecloud said nothing, allowing for her brother to cry his heart out before pulling away, sitting back on the bed as Foxleap got a tissue and blew his nose.

"From what I hear," she said quietly, her face eerily emotionless, "This imposter...Fir, right?...looked just like me. She faked an illness and...somehow got by you for...I don't even know how long."

"I should have known…" muttered the redhead, "I should have noticed how different your voice was…"

"You all should have…" she said, "But from what I hear...despite everything that happened, you took care of the fake Icecloud like she was actually me."

Foxleap nodded.

"From what Ivypool told me," she said, a soft smirk on the edge of her lips, "You refused a blood sample because you knew that I was afraid of needles."

"Well," said the boy, returning the smirk, "I didn't want to end up like the dentist from ten years ago."

The two of them chuckled quietly at that before Icecloud turned to look her brother in the eye.

"Don't blame yourself," she said, "Based on everything that I heard, you're not to blame. Hell, I don't think it would be fair to blame _anyone _in this house."

Foxleap nodded.

"You feeling alright?" he said, standing up.

Icecloud's face soured.

"No."

"What's wrong?" he said, sitting back down.

Icecloud bit her lip in silence for a few seconds.

"I'm pregnant."

It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone, but Foxleap's eyes widened in shock, a gasp getting through his lips.

"Uh…Jack is gonna take me to get tested for STDs," continued Icecloud, "And also try to get me a consultant. A therapist or something. That's what we were talking about before you came in."

"Are you gonna keep it?"

Icecloud flinched at the question. She had clearly been expecting it, but she obviously wasn't ready to give an answer.

"I don't know," she said after a few moments, "I know everyone will say that it's my decision, but I...both decisions are bad, whatever I choose. If I keep it, I'm worried that all I'll see is the horror that I went through unwillingly. The fact that it's a rape child might get in the way of me loving them. But if I don't…"

She rested her chin on her kneecaps, her eyes glittering with uncertainty. "I have to drag around the fact that I killed an innocent baby for the rest of my life."

Foxleap nodded, reaching forward and grabbing her hand, She squeezed it with an iron fist.

"What do you think I should do?" she said quietly.

"Don't ask me," he said immediately, "It's not my decision to make. It's yours and Jack's."

"But the baby isn't Jack's…"

"And I have the complete faith that he will support you no matter what you do. If you do choose to keep it, I personally think that he would father them like he would if the baby was his."

Icecloud nodded as Jack entered the room, holding two mugs of hot cocoa in both hands. Foxleap took that as his cue to leave, heading to the door before stopping midway through.

"Jack."

The CIA agent looked up after setting Icecloud's mug down on her nightstand.

Foxleap smiled.

"Thank you for taking care of her."

* * *

Crow wasn't sure how long he had been in the dark.

Probably a long time.

It had been at least a couple of hours since someone was last in here with them. After Ashtooth and Mallowleaf, the leaders of the resistance members, left, Foxleap and Coalstrike came back. After knocking him around a couple times for shits and giggles, they draped a washcloth over Fir's face and waterboarded her for almost a full hour, extorting as much information as they possibly could, even on topics beyond the point of Fir's knowledge.

Crow had been screaming, pleading till he was hoarse as he watched his lover get tortured before his very eyes. After they left, Crow was sobbing while Fir coughed up water for almost ten minutes.

But after then, they were in pitch black. Crow may have fallen asleep, he may have been awake, but being trapped in the dark was slowly becoming a surreal experience.

It was like it was fading out of existence itself. A being so insignificant and useless that in this ensconcing black, he could just disappear and no one would care.

His existential crisis came to an abrupt halt when he heard a small beeping from a watch.

"Happy anniversary," said Fir quietly.

"Anniversary?" rasped Crow.

"Today is the anniversary of when we met for the first time."

"Wow."

"Time flies, huh?"

"If only."

"..."

"..."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I tried to protect you. I tried everything I could, but I couldn't save the woman I love. I failed you."

"You're not alone."

"What does that mean?"

"I should have come to you. I should have helped. I should have reached out to you during the raid and give you information. I had the knowledge and I had the power to stop this from happening, but…"

If Crow wasn't strapped to a chair, he would have got up and kissed her.

"You didn't fail me."

"I can say the same thing. So...I guess we failed each other then."

"At least we're even."

She chuckled.

Silence.

Crow may have passed out, he may have fallen asleep, but the next thing he heard was the whir of an elevator.

The door opened, filling the room with bright, white light. Crow flinched and shut his eyes, slowly squinting to adjust to the light.

Standing in the elevator was a masked figure with strips of light blue lights covering his arms and an insignia of a bluejay on his chest.

Crow fully expected for him to get killed by that thing as he stepped forward and turned on the lights.

"Alright," started Jaywhisker, "Which one of you is more comfortable being stuffed into a trash bag for ninety seconds?"

Crow and Fir shared a strange glance as Jaywhisker disengaged and got out of the suit, pulled out a box cutter from his pocket and began to cut the zipties binding the agents to their chairs.

"Wait…" said Fir, staggering to her feet as the boy started to free Crow, "You're not going to torture us?"

"I'm getting you out of here," he said, cutting the last ziptie and helping Crow to his feet. Immediately he ran forward and hugged Fir, the two sharing a long kiss as Jaywhisker grabbed a trash bag from the corner.

"Alright. Fir, right?" said the boy, "I'm gonna help you get in the suit. It's not a perfect fit, but it'll do. All you need to do is just follow me."

"Okay…" said Fir, watching the intimidating suit with unease before approaching it.

"You alright holding your breath?" said Jaywhisker to Crow, who nodded without hesitation.

The two boys worked together to ease Fir into her suit, which took about three minutes.

"Alright," said Jaywhisker, "I'm closing the suit. You'll be in the dark for a few seconds, but the vision should calibrate soon after."

"Okay," said Fir.

Jaywhisker pressed his thumb against his opposite wrist and the suit slowly began to close, until Fir was completely covered in the power suit.

"You'll need this," said Jaywhisker immediately after, shuffling in his back pocket and pulling out a box.

It was the engagement ring.

Crow hesitated, looking to Jay, who just smirked.

"I thought you might want it back."

Crow smiled, excitement flushing his eyes before grabbing the box, stuffing it into his pocket and getting into the trash bag.

"You guys ready?" said Jaywhisker after Crow was set.

Fir gave a thumbs up and Crow shook the bag in response.

"Alright," said Jaywhisker, handing the garbage bag to Fir and leading them to the elevator.

The three of them rode to the main floor, where Jaywhisker led Fir towards the front door.

"Whatcha doing?" said Jayfeather from the kitchen counter.

"Well, since we're not fighting right now," he called, the lie obviously well-rehearsed, "Might as well make the suit useful."

Fir was worried that he may pursue further, but the telepathic just shrugged. "Alright, just make sure it doesn't violate the Laws of Robotics."

"Those are _fictional rules_ that _don't work!_" called back the boy as he opened the door, leading Crow and Fir out.

Jaywhisker unlocked the back of the black van in the parking lot, got both escapees out of their hiding places and stuffed the suit in the back.

"Can you drive?" said Jaywhisker to Crow, holding out the keys.

Crow smirked.

"Aye aye."

And so the three of them took the van and drove away towards a cliff with a beautiful view.

* * *

"So basically he's just an idiot child who was ordered to try and track you down?" said Coalstrike, finishing the can of Miller Lite.

Dusty nodded. "Well, he's far from an idiot. He actually took many pains to show me that he's competent, but that's essentially what he was trying to do."

Ashtooth nodded. "Go get Fang. I think we can work with him on the information he wants."

Dusty got up and left his room, and hurried to the backyard, only stopping when he saw that Fing was _still _yelling at Sunfield, even though they had been arguing for almost an hour.

Sunfield clearly didn't care that he was getting screamed at, a witty smirk plastered onto his face.

"Admit it," he said with a smirk, "You were worried about me."

"YOU ARE A CHILD WHO RAN HEADFIRST INTO BATTLE WITHOUT A WEAPON TO DEFEND YOURSELF! WHO THE HELL WOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT YOU?!"

"I'm just saying," said Sunfield, grinning as he threw his arms in the air, "You can go on about how much of an idiot I am, but deep down in your black, tiny little heart, I know that you care about me."

"Consider yourself lucky," he snarled, getting in his face, "After what happened to your _father_."

In a rare turn of events, Sunfield's characteristic smile dropped immediately, but Dusty coughed to announce his presence before any escalation could occur.

"Oh," growled Fang, facing the boy, "What do _you_ want?"

"Ashtooth and Coalstrike would like to speak with you."

Fang straightened up, the red in his face dwindling as he walked back into the house.

"You good?" said Dusty, walking over to Sunfield.

The boy smiled at him, erasing all signs that he had broken character. "Yeah! Why wouldn't I be after we kicked all that ass back there?"

Dusty smirked. "Yeah, that was pretty awesome."

"So when are you gonna start teaching me?"

Dusty raised an eyebrow. "Teach you what?"

"How to be a soldier!" said Sunfield, now full of life and excitement. "You know, how to kick ass on the battlefield and all that smart tactics and stuff!"

Dusty clearly wasn't ready to do any teaching, but for some reason, looking at Sunfield's pure joy to even be in his presence denied him even the thought of turning him down.

"Alright," said Dusty.

"YES!" said Sunfield, "So what's step one?"

Dusty patted the boy's stomach. "Start going to the gym. You don't win battles with baby fat."

"HEY!" retorted Sunfield playfully as the two of them headed back into the house, "I'll have you know that I have a budding 8-pack of abs here!"

"Yeah, alright, Chris Pratt."

* * *

**Man, this was fun to write. I rarely say that about my own chapters, but this chapter was just...a lot of fun for some reason.**

**Icecloud getting pregnant is...probably gonna be my toughest arc, mostly because I don't have a clear plan for it. Jay can do whatever he wants if he does. At least then I won't be left with a momentous morality-impacting decision.**

**I also apologize in advance if I started a pro-life/pro-choice firestorm in the review section. That is a byproduct I only thought of when I wrote the previous sentence.**

**Jaywhisker is a BLAST to write. That probably won't be the last time I say that, but he is very quickly becoming the character I'm most interested in.**

**And Dusty and Sunfield and buds now. How that develops, I'm not sure yet. I will get the phone call from last chapter covered next, though.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Because for once, I sure did.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	23. The Dog On A Leash Metaphor

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

**THE DOG ON A LEASH METAPHOR**

* * *

**Two Days Earlier...**

Jaywhisker was not having a good day.

He had basically surrounded in stress that he had made himself. He was working so hard on the suit that he hadn't slept in four days (which Foxleap had reprimanded him for every second he was working, the house had run out of Guinness, which he called his "work drink" in private, he couldn't ask any non-procrastinating or reasonable adult for a restock and now Coalstrike was making him go _back to school_ to pick Dusty up when he started coming home later and later after band practice.

Ugh.

Granted, it was only a twenty-minute bike ride to the Warriors High campus, so it wasn't like it was a _huge_ deal, but seriously? Now he had to reel in the child that was their first priority of protection like he was a dog on a leash.

Why him, anyway? It wasn't like he did anything important. All he had done was play the piano, shout at Coalstrike for being overprotective and try to remind him of how Marvel was better than DC. It was like he had everyone praising him as the protagonist of their story even though he had done the equivalent of important work as a minor side character.

Was _he_ the one remaking an Iron Man suit from scratch just to impress an eight-year-old?

He pulled into the massive parking lot of his high school, glided to the bike rack to lock his bike and headed inside.

"Alright, where is this sneaky son of a gun?" he muttered to himself as he walked through the grand entrance of the school.

He walked down the main hallway, embellished with banners and decorated tiles and glanced down the massive offshoots to the many wings of the school. Clearly hoping that he wasn;t down one of them, he only gave them a glance before shrugging them off and heading to the stairs at the end of the hallway, which connected all three floors.

Jaywhisker walked up the stairs, inwardly cursing everyone in the group for the dirty work they made him do until he heard a voice.

"So you say your kryptonite, of all things, is an F#3."

Jaywhisker peeked over the last stair to see Dusty walking down the hallway next to Axis, who he recognized as the handsome boy Dusty sat with at lunch outside. On the surface, in seemed to be a casual conversation, but quickly Jaywhisker noticed something in Dusty's eyes and posture that was...different than when he talked to him.

"Listen," said Axis, an exasperated smirk on his face, "It's literally in the middle of every scale. It's the most frustrating note to pull out of air. Plus, no one uses F# in any key well anymore."

"Excuses, excuses," said Dusty, rolling his eyes, "When will you just admit that your perfect 'perfect pitch' isn't so perfect after all?"

The boy grinned. "Never."

"Narcissist."

"Well, if I can't impress you with my amazing singing anymore…"

He abruptly grabbed Dusty under his shoulders, making him flinch, and carried him until his back slammed against the lockers and he towered over him.

"Guess I'll have to impress you some other way."

"Is that so?" said Dusty, who didn't at all seem threatened by Axis' possessiveness, "I didn't think you were a 'makeout by the lockers' kind of guy."

Axis playfully tickled Dusty right under his chin, making him visibly flare up in embarrassment. "Mmh," he shrugged, "Only for the most memorable of times."

"How charming."

"Now where have I heard that before."

Their faces were inches away.

Jaywhisker's eyes were wide in terror. There was no way Dusty knew the trouble he may be in now.

"BOYS!"

Luckily, Crookedstar's booming voice made the two break apart instantly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Axis seemed quite unfazed by this. "Nothing to worry about, Crook. Just horsin' around, if you get what I mean."

Crookedstar continued to glower at the two with crossed arms, which Axis clearly didn't expect.

"School ended two hours ago. You better have a good explanation as to why you're here so late on campus after hours."  
"Whatcha talking about?" said Axis, bewildered, "We had band! You know this!"

"My office," said Crookedstar decisively, "Now."

"But-"

"NOW."

Axis almost fought back, but Dusty gave him a shoulder bump, which made him shut up after he mumbled a pissed off "Yes sir" as the two of them walked away to the principal's office.

Jaywhisker took this golden opportunity to bolt, streaking down the stairs before he could be seen.

* * *

Overall, the thirty minutes Dusty spent in the office were...pretty painless.

The two of them were forced to sit in silence as Crookedstar typed an email to their guardians. Of course, he wasn't concerned since Jaywhisker had directed all emails to a burner account and he figured Axis wouldn't be worried either, but the bartender was _fuming_. Never before had he seen him this pissed off.

So Dusty did something he probably would have regret in any other situation. He reached over and held his hand.

For a couple of seconds, Axis was frozen in place, not knowing how to react, before squeezing it back, accepting the gesture.

They held hands for twenty five minutes, only breaking apart when the headmaster begrudgingly let them go.

"Sorry about that," said Dusty when they were safely out of range.

"No, it's fine," said Axis, his wrist still occasionally quivering, "I should be the one apologizing. I've never seen Crook so pissed off before."

The walk finished in silence, the two walking down the stairs to the main entrance and stopping at the glass doors to the parking lot.

"Well," said Dusty awkwardly, "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Dusty sighed after a moment and walked to the door.

"Wait!"

Dusty turned around. "Yeah?"

Before the boy could say anything, Axis leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. The touch was light and gentle, but was just enough to make Dusty gasp tightly and blush profusely.

Axis was back to character, smirking. "Just...an apology."

He walked past him, leaving Dusty right in front of the doors, silently reveling in his euphoria. After about a minute of taking deep breaths to stop his heart from beating at the speed of light, he turned out and strided out the double doors.

But immediately, he noticed a presence behind him and his high was ruined.

"How much did you see?" said Dusty, all enthusiasm drained from his voice.

"Enough," said Jaywhisker icily, "Enough to prove how much of a fucking idiot you are."

Dusty didn't respond, walking to his bike and undoing the combination lock that tied it to the rack.

"Do you even realize what you're doing?!" snapped Jaywhisker, "The entire reason we come here was to keep ourselves hidden from ARS and train up. Not even _three weeks_ later you're head over heels for a _homeless_ guy, so you've told me, who's done nothing but flirt with you! All it takes is a glance for you to want to drop your clothes and suck his dick!"

Dusty was getting very tired of this. "Do you ever shut up?"

"_Not when I have a point!_" shot back the boy, "And my point is that you're not thinking things through! You are trying to commit yourself to a relationship that has the power to make you lose track of your guard and get you killed! You can't go through with this. Not until you know he's not a threat-"

"_He's not a threat!_" snapped Dusty, dismounting his bike and getting into Jaywhisker's face.

"Oh yeah?" said Jaywhisker, not even flinching, "How do you know he's not a part of some bisexual Spud Posse resurrection? Or a perverted rapist? Or, dare I say, _a part of ARS?!_ I bet that while you've been jacking off to this guy's hairline you haven't even granted a thought to this entire thing being a trap."

"_You're starting to sound like Coalstrike._"

"AT LEAST HE CAN SEE SOME SENSE SOMETIMES!"

Dusty opened his mouth for a scathing retort but slowly shut it when nothing came out.

Jaywhisker by then seemed to realize that he was taking this too far. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you. I've seen the way you two flirt and I can tell you really like him, but even then, it's dangerous. When we're fighting a terrorist organization that are experts at espionage, anyone could be trying to shoehorn us into a trap. I'd...I'd just rather you have a broken heart and still be kicking than not."

Dusty nodded, eyes down at his shoes.

"Look," said the boy genius, "I'll leave you alone. You can have your naked makeout seshes that you so want to have. My lips are sealed. But if he gets all suspicious behind you...I need to step in. We all do."

Jaywhisker patted him on the back and got on his bike, getting ready to head towards the house.

"Is this what a dog feels like when they're on a leash?" said Dusty suddenly, the joy from Axis' kiss now a distant memory, "Being pulled away from everything they're interested in because it's too out of the way of the final destination?"

Jaywhisker shrugged. "Dunno. I'm just doing this so I can keep mooching off of Coalstrike's beer restockings."

Even Dusty couldn't help but crack a smile at that.

"Thanks, Jaywhisker."

"No problem," he said, returning a smile, "You...may wanna fix your pants, though."

Dusty flinched, adjusting his jeans immediately as Jaywhisker grinned wickedly.

* * *

**Present Day.**

_Shit._

Dusty was immediately awake, sitting in his underwear in the middle of the queen-sized bed and his phone to his ear. A glance at the clock told him it was just past two in the morning.

And Axis somehow knew that he had been in Riven.

"_How do you know he's not a part of some bisexual Spud Posse resurrection? Or a perverted rapist? Or, dare I say, a part of ARS?! I bet that while you've been jacking off to this guy's hairline you haven't even granted a thought to this entire thing being a trap."_

No.

There had to be a reason.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, uh…" Dusty said, hastily trying to think of something.

"Wasn't a tough question," pressed Axis, "You weren't shooting up the warehouse district, were you?"

"NO!" said Dusty, only realizing the instant after that he had said that too fast, "I...I was just…"

His eyes flailed around and eventually fell on the glass windows and glass sliding door that served as the barrier to his walk-in closet.

He had something.

"I was sizing up my violin," he said, I wanna see if it can get a better ring from the mic in my studio."

Axis was silent, seemingly comprehending the "exposition" he had just dumped on him.

"I have many questions."

"Shoot," said Dusty with a new shot of confidence.

"There's an instrument shop in Riven?"

"Yeah," he said casually, getting up and rolling his shoulders, "It;s in the middle of this big marketplace. Rumor says they're closing down soon, though."

He hadn't seen much of the market, but now he really wished he wasn't wrong.

"You play violin, too?!" said Axis, his oppressive tone replaced with a mix of confusion and budding admiration, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I was going to," said Dusty with a chuckle, "But I wanted it to be a surprise when I showed you my studio."

"YOU HAVE A STUDIO?!" said Axis, who was obviously smiling in disbelief.

"Well, it's technically my walk-in closet, but y'know...just put up some soundproof walls, get a mic, install the software…"

As Axis was salivating over his nonchalant reveal, Dusty's eyes widened.

This was perfect.

He could kill two birds with one stone.

"I could…show it to you...if you want…" said Dusty quietly, suddenly a lot more nervous.

"_Are you kidding me?!_" said Axis, his music nerdness on full display, "When are you free?"

"Tomorrow. At ten. I'll pick you up from the bar."

"It's a date."

"It's not a date…" said Dusty, blushing, "You're coming over to my house…"

Axis just laughed.

"Whatever you say."

Dusty was burning now.

"Okay, I gotta get back to work," said Axis, "See you tonight."

"Yeah," said the flustered boy as the bartender hung up.

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

Axis was coming to his house.

He didn't care that Coalstrike and Ashtooth and Mallowleaf were going to keep him here. He didn't care that Jaywhisker was going to be extremely suspicious when he told him. None of it mattered.

_Axis was coming to his house!_

After pumping his fist about seventeen times, Dusty took a deep breath.

"Well," he said to himself, "I'm definitely not going to fall asleep anytime soon."

So for the next two hours, he turned on the purple LED strip lights lining the ceiling of his studio and played Caravan on the drums to celebrate.

And for once, the screw-ups he made during the solo didn't matter at all.

* * *

**DUSTAXIS IS IN FULL SWING!**

**And things are getting steamy...**

**Next chapter is the final chapter of Arc 1. Axis pays a visit and I get to tease you with a glimpse of Jaywhisker's backstory.**

**Hopefully I'll get it in before Jay starts his final arc and fucks up all of my plans, but we'll see.**

**Just keep in mind that for better or for worse, it's only a matter of time before I take the wheel.**

**Remember to review! Seriously, I have no experience with being a co-writer of a miniverse. Reviews even and especially (fair) critical ones, are much appreciated.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	24. Release

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

**RELEASE**

* * *

"_You have always been there for me. Through my darkest nights, you stayed by my side, Amidst my most trepid fears, you lifted me up and in times I thought all was lost, you lit the way to the end of the cave by any means necessary…"_

Jaywhisker kept walking down the cliffside, trying to ignore Crow's bombastic proposal speech. It was cute, and the boy had no doubt in his mind that Fir wouldn't say yes, but it had been a while since he had last gotten this kind of fresh air. He wanted some time to himself.

The morning was dull and gray. A plain overcast of color washed clouds painted the sky, giving a dreary, almost depressing atmosphere. Jaywhisker found it ironic. The least the weather could have done was welcome a tiny bit of levity into the two former assassin's engagement.

After a bit of walking, he found a nice spot down near a cleft overlooking the vast lake. He sat down and leaned back against the slanted landscape, his eyes drifting to the cloudy sky up above him.

Jaywhisker, out of view of anyone within a couple hundred feet, relaxed for one of the first times since he was inducted into the resistance. His back seemed to sink into the grass and he let his eyes close, soothed by the soft, chilly breeze of the early October air.

Jaywhisker was at peace.

For only about six minutes.

His eyes fluttered back open as he felt a vibration in his pocket. At first, he thought it was a call from someone at the house, so he shut his eyes again. He could pull an explanation out of his ass when the time came.

And then he heard the music.

"_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday, happy birthday,_

_Happy birthday to you."_

And just like that, Jaywhisker's serenity was ruined.

He ruffled into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The home screen showed a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" graphic surrounded by smiling monster-alien hybrids that looked to be crudely photoshopped together off of stock photos in about ten minutes and overlaid by a repeated gif of computer-generated confetti. Disgruntled, he swiped down, dismissing the alarm.

He made a mental note to get back to trying to disable the damn thing when he got the chance.

Reluctantly, Jaywhisker sat up, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and curling up, his chin resting between his kneecaps.

"Happy birthday to me," he said out loud to nobody in particular.

It was true. Today was September 29, 2024. His seventeenth birthday.

And the ninth anniversary of the day his birthday became his least favorite day of the year.

"Alright," grumbled Jaywhisker, "Let's get this over with."

He grabbed the sleeves of the sweatshirt he wore and rolled them up, showing a bandage covering the front of his forearms under each sleeve. The bandage was stained, dirty and covered in grime, as if it had been worn for much longer than it was intended to. After a couple seconds of feeling and sinking dirt in between his fingernails, he found the end of the bandage and undid the wrapping, the rest of the bandage coming off easily due to the adhesive wearing off.

When he was done, he walked about fifty feet to throw away the bandages, scurried back to his spot, his sleeves completely rolled up.

Under his bandages were two long scars coursing across each of his wrists. The gashes were old, but cluttered in scar tissue. It didn't take a doctor to realize the scars were permanent. Slowly, he ran his finger over the dried blood and dead skin, which was intermingled with dirt and grime.

Words played in his head, like classical music being played at an elegant party from the 1800's. It was like there was a struggle, a fight for those memories to get to the front of his brain. Jaywhisker was very calm, though. He had spent years building his skill to tune this out.

He thought of Russ.

His cute little smile.

The way his eyes lit up like the fourth of July when he showed him his suit.

The bond that the two of them shared.

And when that was what he thought about, those memories had no chance. Jaywhisker swore he could feel them scampering to the back of his mind, prepared to be forgotten for at least another year.

Smirking to himself at his own victory, he drew his nail along one of the gashes on his wrist and got to his feet, heading back in Crow and Fir's direction, not noticing a man in a hoodie grabbing one of the bandages out of the trash bin.

He found them at the same cliffside, Fir nestled into Crow's chest and and Crow holding her in a tight, loving hug.

"I hear congratulations are in order," said Jaywhisker, cracking a smile.

Fir held out her right hand, a beautiful engagement ring wrapped around her ring finger.

Jaywhisker smiled, rolling up his sleeves and sitting down next to the couple. "So what's next?" he asked, "Got a house to move into? Maybe on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere?"

"Not yet."

Jaywhisker cocked his eyebrow. "Wait, you're staying here?"

"ARS knows that we betrayed them," said Crow, "They probably know that we gave up information. We can't be sure that we'll be safe until Rock is dead. So...we were thinking that we could hide, maybe give you some battle plan assistance if you want it? We can stay in the basement."

"That would be great," said Jaywhisker, smiling, "Thank you. We will forever be in your debt."

"No, thank _you_," said Fir with a dreamy smile on her face, "You went behind everyone's back and got us out of being tortured. I can't imagine how hard that must have been, but we're grateful for your kindness."

Jaywhisker smiled, scooting closer to the newly-engaged couple and looking out on the gray lake.

For once, insubordination felt good.

* * *

"You're lying."

"Nope," said Dusty, coming to a halt across the street from the mansion he called home.

"You…" stuttered Axis, "You live in a mansion."

"Yep."

"Heh...no wonder you act like a spoiled brat."

"Har har," said Dusty, shouldering him as he biked over to the front, locking his bike to the front porch and meeting Axis on the front step.

"So, uh," said Dusty, "My folks kinda don't know you exist, so…we're gonna have to sneak you in."

"Wooow," said Axis, crossing his arms and smiling, "Got the temperamental kind, huh?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "They're more like just nutjobs."

"Gotcha," said Axis, "So got any ideas?"

Dusty thought a moment before he got one.

"Can you climb?"

And so five minutes later, Dusty had ran into his bedroom, locked the door and popped out the emergency escape window right over his bed and tossed down a rope that Foxleap had hidden under his bed. After a couple minutes of struggling and practicing of physics, Axis finally got over the barrier and stumbled into the bedroom.

"Holy shit," Axis said in awe, "You _live _here?"

"Yep," said the boy, locking the window back into place, "But you're not here for that, are you?"

He led the bartender to the door of his walk-in closet, slid open the door and hit the lights. Purple light illuminated the converted studio, with soundproofers glued to the walls, a keyboard in the back corner and the several different instruments on hooks along the walls. Just to their left stood a mic, with a chord leading out of the closet and into the computer that was across from the foot of Dusty's bed, and two pairs of headphones.

"Impressed?" said Dusty, grinning ear to ear as Axis walked around in a trance-like state, running his hands along every little thing.

"This...is..._amazing!_" he squealed, jumping around in joy, "Let's play something! What do you wanna play?"

"We can play anything," said Dusty, loving how this night was going so far, "Last I checked, I had...900 instrumental tracks to songs?"

"Stop it."

"Thought you might enjoy it," he said, "So what's first on our magical musical adventure?"

"Hm…" said Axis in exaggerated thought, "You a Brendon Urie fan?"

"Hell yeah."

And so the night went on. The two worked like a well-oiled machine, Axis' fantastic voice matched with Dusty's incredible instrumental ingenuity made for a fantastic night for both of them. All throughout, they tried to keep on one-upping the other, Axis picking higher and higher songs under his voice peaked at Ariana Grande and Dusty somehow managing to fluke the guitar solo in Paradise City in two tries.

By half past midnight, two and a half hours after Axis had arrived, the two were exhausted. Axis' voice was raspy as he downed water bottle after water bottle and Dusty was covered in sweat, his joints thinking he just ran a marathon.

The two of them had worked each other to their instrumental peak. No one else had ever done that before.

"Damn," said Axis, who was on his fourth water bottle, "I don't think I've worked myself this hard before."

"Same," said Dusty, finishing his water.

They sat in silence, heads resting against the soundproof walls as they drained their water bottles.

Dusty was having the time of his life. Axis was having a blast and the two worked together so well. He couldn't think of a way this night to get better.

Suddenly, Dusty felt Axis' hand drift on top of his. He turned to see his lips pursed in thought.

"Do you…" he suddenly asked, "Do you dance?"

Dusty froze.

"Uh...no, not really…" he admitted after a second.

"Oh okay," said Axis, his nervousness becoming more and more prevalent, "Sorry I asked."

Silence filled the air, though this one was much more awkward and uncomfortable.

"Can you teach me?"

"Huh?" said Axis, turning to him.

"Can you teach me?" he asked again.

"Uh...sure, I guess…" he said, getting up and heading to the computer as Dusty stood and put on the headphones.

A couple seconds later, very slow jazz started playing in his headphones. Even the mood his crush set was enough to make Dusty blush.

"Alright," said Axis, standing back in front of Dusty, "This one is simple. First, put your hands around my hips."

Trying desperately to hide how much his hands were shaking, Dusty reached forward and grabbed his hips. He flinched as Axis placed his hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer, until their bodies were mere inches away.

Dusty's heart was beating at the speed of sound.

"Now, just sway," said Axis quietly, leading Dusty into a gentle sway. Back and forth, back and forth as gently as he could.

The romantic saxophone melody played quietly as the two just rocked back and forth over and over. Dusty kept his eyes locked on Axis' t-shirt to hide how much he was blushing.

_Breathe, Dusty. Breathe._

But no matter what he did or how subtle he did it, he couldn't calm his wild heartbeat. So, out of options, he looked up.

Axis met his gaze and they just stared at each other, a wordless coordination between their movements harmonious between them.

Dusty felt Axis grip his shoulders a little bit tighter and returned it with a gentle squeeze of his hips.

Their faces were inches away.

In those seconds, the tension between them was so prevalent and so thick that anyone could see it.

It needed release.

"You gonna move away this time?" whispered Axis with a smirk.

The response was automatic.

"Not this time."

Their faces moved closer and closer.

And they kissed.

It was gentle and inexperienced. It was clear to the partners that this was the first time they had ever kissed someone like this. The contact was light, teasing and uncomfortable as they learned how to move around in this environment they had introduced each other to.

As the agonizing seconds ticked on and on and on, The kiss became more and more possessive, confident as their lips locked together. Dusty's body burned with a fire which he had never felt before. He thought he was going to explode.

And yet there was a strange calm around him. He didn't need to think, he didn't need to worry about second guessing. He let his instinct take the lead. As the kiss grew in passion, he felt his hands slip under Axis' shirt and touch warm skin.

Axis noticed and broke the kiss slowly, keeping their faces mere centimeters away.

The question was so quiet, Dusty swore that if he wasn't hyperfocused in the moment, he wouldn't have gotten it.

"Wanna keep going?"

Dusty's response was automatic.

"Yes."

That was all they needed.

Axis leaned in and kissed him again, the passion between them burning so hot that it was almost impossible to quench.

Dusty slowly worked Axis' t-shirt off of his body, only breaking the kiss momentarily to slip it off of his head and drop it on the ground.

Axis slipped the headphones off of them, guided them out of the studio and to the bed in the corner.

And the night was theirs.

* * *

"Why do _I _have to be the one who calls him?"

Ashtooth crossed his arms. "You haven't talked to him in a while. This is the perfect time for you two to talk."

"He doesn't want to talk to me," muttered Coalstrike, dialing the number _very_ slowly.

"Why not?" he said, "You two have known each other for ages. Besides, all you're asking for is a favor."

"Yes, a favor to take down Lindisfarne's sworn enemy and a madman who happens to be a god. Has the same amount of meaning as going to the store to get a carton of milk."

"Just make the fucking call," said Ashtooth, tired of Coalstrike wasting time.

"Fine."

Coalstrike finished the number and pressed the call. He really hoped that no one would pick up.

Sadly, after six rings, someone did.

"Hello?" said a gruff voice.

"Jaggedstorm," greeted Coalstrike, "It's been a long time…"

* * *

**END OF ARC 1**

* * *

***exhale of relief***

**Aight y'all I need a break.**

**It'll probably be a week until Arc 2 starts (even though that's the norm now), but this feels awesome.**

**You probably rolled your eyes at the scars on Jaywhisker, but there's an...acceptable reason as to why. Hopefully, I don't fuck up the backstory of my current favorite character.**

**Before you ask, yes. Dusty and Axis are having snu-snu already. This is intentional. You'll see in the next chapter.**

**And who is this Jaggedstorm?**

**Ohohohoh...**

**To put it simply, Player 3 has entered the game.**

**Take that as you will.**

**I hope you enjoyed Arc 1. Keep an eye out for next chapter and make sure to leave a review!**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	25. These Lovely Sins (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**ARC 2 - SOCIETY OF TRAITORS**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**THESE LOVELY SINS**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS AND REFERENCES TO _CONSENSUAL_ SEX. IF THIS TOPIC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE CONSIDER SKIPPING THE FIRST PART OF THIS CHAPTER OR THE CHAPTER ALTOGETHER**

* * *

**(Scene takes place twelve hours before Chapter 48 of The New Era)**

Dusty hadn't slept better in his life.

He was completely knocked out, enveloped in warmth like a large blanket was gently covering him. His mind was at complete peace. Calm. Serenity. Like this, he could sleep for hours. He'd probably be late for dinner for how long he wanted to sleep like this.

Sadly, Pharell's voice cut that feign hope short by a couple of hours. Dusty groaned audibly and reached his hand over to the nightstand, muting the alarm for a couple of minutes.

Something was draped over his shoulder and bare chest. Assuming it was a blanket, Dusty grabbed it and tossed it back, ready to drift back into slumber.

But his eyes squinted open again as the object gained a second wind of resilience and replaced itself over his arms. Exhausted, Dusty felt it over a bit, making some observations. It felt...stiff. Bulky. Muscular, even. Those were the first adjectives to enter his mind. Weird things to describe a blanket, that's for sure.

But he tossed it aside. Must have been the cleaner Foxleap used to wash these last.

There was suddenly a rustling behind him, and Dusty's eyes shot open as he felt something shift along his spine.

Axis tiredly groaned with the creaking of the mattress, causing the boy to look up as a human figure emerged and sat up next to him on the bed. He stretched his arms out, yawned and looked around, confusion glinting in his eyes as he looked over the unfamiliar surroundings.

It took until he looked down at Dusty for them both to realize where they were and who the other was.

Inadvertently, Dusty traced his hand down his side and went ice cold when he felt nothing but skin below his waist.

He was naked.

_They were both naked._

Trepid intelligence filled their eyes as they felt confused alarm pump through their veins. They gleaned around for a couple moments, likely looking for their clothes until Axis broke the awkward silence.

"Dusty?"

He turned and looked Axis in the eye.

"What...what happened last night?"

Thankfully and unfortunately, a knock on the door prevented Dusty from having to answer that question.

The pair was awake now. Dusty shot out of bed, wildly gesturing for Axis to get in the bathroom as he rushed to the opposite corner, grabbing a crumpled up yellow towel and wrapping it around his waist and covering his modesty as he answered the door.

On the other side was Jaywhisker, a _very_ irritated frown on his face.

"Did you have a fun time?"

Dusty stuttered before he cut him off. "Actually, don't answer that. I made my own conclusions when I had to wipe the sex tape the security camera caught from the feed."

The dirty-blonde boy put his hand over his face. Today couldn't start any worse.

"Anyways," said the other boy, who looked ready to pour three gallons of bleach into his eyes, "I barely stopped Coalstrike and Ashtooth from barging in here. We're charging the mountain today. They want to train you up personally to make sure you're in 'tip-top shape.'"

Okay, so it _could_ get worse.

"I...need to take a shower" was all Dusty could say.

"Yes, you do," said Jaywhisker, rubbing his eyes as he shut the door, "And spray some Febreeze in here while you're at it. Someone might look beyond the excuse of your B.O. getting worse if you make the turn to prostitution for God knows what reason."

Dusty was frozen in place as the door locked behind him.

He was now fully aware of what happened last night. The sounds, the sensations and the lingering aches that came with it.

His mind was whirling at a thousand miles a minute. He only was thrust back into reality when he heard Axis starting the shower.

Dusty walked into the glowing bathroom, shutting the door behind him, dropping the towel and stepping into the shower with the bartender.

The two held an awkward stare, eyes darting around and admiring the tiles that lines the shower wall for a couple seconds at a time.

Dusty broke the silence.

"Can...can you pass the soap?"

"What? Oh yeah, sure," he said, turning around and grabbing the carton of Old Spice from the edge of the bath. Dusty took it quickly and turned his back, not feeling comfortable at all to even look at the guy he slept with last night.

Who knew that it took a couple sobering hours of sleep to see straight again?

Fifteen minutes later, Dusty and Axis were dried off and sitted on the edge of Dusty's bed. Dusty was in a baggy t-shirt with a worn pair of slim jeans. Axis was in an AJR t-shirt and high-cut running shorts that Dusty found in the back of his drawer.

They were silent. Quietly coming to terms with the existence of the events of the night before.

To think that the couple that was flirting like there was no tomorrow and risking so much just to see and impress each other were not even daring to even come close to holding hands.

"Sooooo…"

"Yeah."

"Last night...happened."

"Yep."

Axis turned to Dusty. "You feeling alright?"

Dusty was quiet, just staring at his bare feet.

"Yeah...me too."

They fell back into quiet, the bartender debating on whether he should say something or respect the other's silent torment.

"I...I should go," he said finally, getting up and walking to the window he had repelled through the previous evening.

"Wait."

Obviously relieved, Axis turned around and looked at Dusty, who still hadn't turned to face him.

"Is this all there is?" he murmured.

"To what?"

"To love, lust, whatever the hell we had yesterday that we don't have now."

"What do you mean?"

Dusty shifted in his seat. "Well, I feel...very different today. I remember that until yesterday, I almost fainted every time I looked at you. Now...I feel…"

"Nothing?" said Axis, his voice quiet and strained.

"Yes."

Dusty slouched over, his face contorted in misery.

"I don't want it to be like this. I don't want this..._us_ to be defined by this one-night-stand we just had. I want to go back to feeling like you were the thing I most wanted to have. I want to go back to when we flirted and talked and held hands and…"

Axis nodded, a gesture of understanding which Dusty couldn't see.

"Do you get what I'm saying?" he stammered, still on his ramble, "I don't want this to be it. I don't want that pain and I know you don't deserve that pain. You have enough pain in our life already…"

"Like that night you saw me sleeping under a cardboard box beneath the bridge?"

Dusty froze. "How did you…?"

"I'm friends with a couple of the guys that sleep around that area," he said, a soft, knowing smirk on his face as he sat down next to Dusty, "They saw you wandering around alone and thought that your folks had kicked you out. Had a feeling that wasn't the case."

Dusty looked back at his feet as Axis scooted a couple inches closer.

"I get it," he said, "I feel the same way. I know that whatever we had last night isn't the same as what we have now, but as long as we both still believe we have something, it will continue to be my great honor to know you and have you around, as a friend, as a lover or whatever suits your will."

"I don't know," said Dusty, his voice still quiet, "I _want_ there to be something, but what if there really _is_ nothing there anymore?"

"Well, let's test that."

Axis got to his feet, gesturing for Dusty to do the same.

"Hi," he said, holding out his hand, "I'm Axis. What's your name?"

Dusty was confused for a moment, but decided to play along as he shook his hand.

"Dusty."

"Nice to meet you, Dusty. What do you like to do for a living?"

"Mainly play music. Also torture some punching bags on the off-days."

"What's your favorite song?"

"Don't have one. Too many to count."

"Give me some good ones."

"Okay, uh...every song from Panic! after Death of a Bachelor, every AJR song, every Imagine Dragons song and that should get you through an extended workout regime."

"Now I'm a fan of jazz," said Axis, smiling widely at how successful this ploy was going, "Got any recommendations from that field?"

Dusty grinned. "I dunno. Whatever playlist you had on last night seemed to work pretty well."

Axis dissolved into laughter, slouching over as he failed to compose himself. Dusty was taken aback for only a moment before falling into the same contagious fit as well.

"_See?!_" said Axis, grinning widely, "We still got something!"

"Yeah," said Dusty, smiling back.

The two got their bearings and found each other staring. But this time, there was no insatiable lust or tense awkwardness driving the motive. This was comfortable calm.

This felt right.

"Can I hold your hand?" said Axis suddenly.

Dusty cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well," said Axis, "Clearly, we went too fast. I think one of the best ways to fix that is to take it slow. Y'know, consent, but with slower steps."

"That makes sense."

"So?"

"Yes."

Axis reached forward and took his hand. His grip was gentle and loose. Dusty felt like his hand was a fragile antique the boy in front of him wouldn't dare to risk shattering.

"Whatever goes on with us from now on," said Axis, looking Dusty in the eye, "Whether or not we have sex, kiss or even hold hands, I just want you to know that I will always be by your side. No matter what."

For a brief moment, Dusty wanted to tell him everything. His soldier background, who he was fighting and his fear on how every day could be the last he saw his family.

But he swallowed it down.

"Thank you."

"Alright," said Axis, relieved that this wasn't the disaster it was twenty minutes prior, "I should really be going, though."

Dusty helped take out the window, letting the breeze flow through his hair as he slowly set the window down on the mattress.

Axis seemed to notice his hesitance. "Something on your mind?"

"Can I kiss you?"

It came too fast. Dusty cringed at how fast the request came, but when he turned to his friend, he saw not confusion, not surprise even. Just warm contentment.

"Yes."

So slowly, Dusty walked forward until they were inches away.

And they did.

The kiss was tender, no unlike the ones they shared on the mattress behind them, but this felt different all the same. Less passion, yet all the more sensual feeling that came from their contact.

Dusty liked that.

And so, as he helped Axis down from the window onto the safety of the ground below and waved him goodbye, Dusty felt like a weight was lifted off of his soldiers.

Sex definitely wasn't going to be a commonality. But maybe love could be.

* * *

Sky remained standing as Rock, Bone and Garrison left to take up arms. Her hands were laced behind her back as she watched the monitors showing a van of merry misfits completely unprepared to meet the unstoppable force that was Rock and his army.

An outsider looking in, like Inferno about ten feet away, could have thought that she was having some sympathy for these poor fellows.

Her eyes were calm as her mind worked like clockwork. Little did the psychopath know that he was bearing witness to a genius' mind at work.

She was still for about four minutes, every second punctured by Inferno's lighter dancing through his fingers and the flame clicking in and out, before reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a cigarette.

"Can I get a light?" she asked, holding up the tiny blunt.

Effortlessly, Inferno twirled the lighter and flicked it open with vigor. A stream of fire lashed out from the nub of the zippo like a lasso across the room, licking the edge of Sky's cigarette and lighting it before retreating back into its metal sheath.

Sky didn't even flinch, putting the cigarette in her mouth and exhaling a stream of smoke.

"You smoke?" said Inferno half-heartedly.

"Once a month," said Sky, calmly matching his tone, "Better than going cold turkey."

Three hits later, the blunt was burned out. Sky curled it into her open palm, looking at the monitors again.

"Inferno?"

Inferno grunted, but looked up to see Sky holding a loaded .44 Magnum right between his eyes.

They stood in silence before the madman chuckled. "You're not gonna shoot me."

"Of course not," said Sky, lowering the gun and taking a seat in one of the office chairs that was a victim of Garrison and Bone's fiery argument, "Just wanted to see how you would react."

She grabbed the earpiece from her helmet off the table and radioed in.

"Garrison."

"_Sky, where the hell are you? Rock's thinking you're going behind his back already!_"

"I want you to pull out every soldier as quickly as you can except for two squadrons."

Silence.

"_Now?!_"

"Yes. Use the counterattack info cover. Do exactly as I said, and it will work."

Garrison sighed. "Fine. What's the code name for the orders I give to the rest."

"RETCON-41."

"Alright," said Garrison, "But if you get me killed, you're paying the funeral costs."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. A lighter and a gallon of gas costs as much as a bag of Skittles and a drink these days."

She signed off, slipped into her jacket and looked directly at Inferno, who hadn't seemed to react to the order she had just given.

"I know you won't spill," she said, putting on her black mask.

"Of course not."

Without another word, Sky loaded her pistol and left Inferno in darkness, the only source of light coming from his malicious flame.

* * *

**I'm done with school.**

**Thank God.**

**You may have noticed I've taken the backseat on this miniverse drive. That's because, as you may have heard, Jay has entered his final arc.**

**I have not.**

**I'll be a bit quieter in terms of updates, throwing in chapters here and there whenever we see fit, but rest assured that by the time Jay is done, I take this story and run.**

**And I got the plans man.**

**So what's "RETCON-41?" What's gonna happen to DustAxis? Who the hell is this Inferno guy?**

**You'll find out soon.**

**Remember to leave a review. Share your thoughts. Maybe one day you'll make me look like a dumbass (which is a good thing, I promise) and help me improve.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	26. Jaggedstorm

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

**JAGGEDSTORM**

* * *

"I've made myself clear," snarled the shirtless man, "I want nothing to do with your petty ass."

"_Listen, Jag. I know we've had our differences but thousands of lives are at stake."_

"You know, in the five years since my brother died, you've gotten awful worse at acting like you care. Don't call this number again."

Jaggedstorm hung up, blocking the number and throwing it across the room onto the leather-furnished couch cushion. Furious, he slumped down on the couch, turning his WWE NXT replay up to three-quarters volume.

"Who was that, hon?" said a very beautiful woman, leaning against the wall in her bra, jacket and ripped jeans.

"No one."

"Mhm. How's Coalstrike doing?"

"I'm not even gonna question how you know."

"Rarely seen you this mad over the phone. I know only three people that get under your skin. I'm one of them and the other's dead."

Jaggedstorm smirked, muting the television. "Ain't that sweet of you to say."

The woman sauntered over to Jaggedstorm, slipping into his grasp and wrapping her arms around his back. "Yeah, aren't you just the luckiest guy in the world."

They kissed, Jaggedstorm falling back into a seated position on the couch as they made out for a couple minutes. Though the clothes stayed on, it wasn't hard to discern the passionate affection the two had for each other.

"Mm," murmured Jaggedstorm, "We're out of milk again, aren't we?"

"And chicken," whispered the woman still seated on Jaggedstorm's lap, "I'm craving chicken tonight."

"That's what I thought," Jaggedstorm smirked, buttoning his shirt over his ripped, sweat-drenched chest, "Be good, hon."

"Always am," said Marblestrike, changing the channel and running a hand on her mildly bloated belly as Jaggedstorm went outside. It was a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky, but the 103-degree heat of the Texas air bore down on his skin like an oven cooking a pizza. Wiping an arm over his brow, the man slipped into his truck, let the engine run to get the sweet AC flowing and drove off into town.

He and Marblestrike lived in a pretty big shack just a couple miles outside of town. While the label of "mysterious farmboy" placed on his shoulders by the kids around town pissed him off in secret, he enjoyed the chunk of land and stacked wood house he called home. It wasn't big enough to be called luxurious, but it was comfortable enough for him and his wife of six months to settle into nicely. And while the drive could get a bit tedious, on days like these, the blue sky hanging over the dusty planes like a lampshade gave a nice sensation of comfort.

This was his home and he loved it here. He was still quite confused as to why he even moved away in the first place.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the small town of Wendell, a small town just under a hundred miles from the Mexico border. Jaggedstorm had moved in a year and a half after Trump set ICE in and around the once ghost town as a hub for catching illegal immigrants until he was impeached and Pence took office. Nowadays, almost half of the town's population was Hispanic, forcing Jagged to struggle to learn Spanish. He could probably re-enroll in high school and pass Spanish I with a C+ with where he was now.

Jaggedstorm pulled the truck to a stop, put a quarter in the rusty parking meter and walked to the corner store, which was owned by a white man by the name of Austin. He was very popular after he agreed to shelter border-hoppers in his shop while customs exploited the precinct, and his reward was his business becoming the most popular in the district. It didn't take long before he and Jaggedstorm became close friends.

"I see your wife drained the 2% again," said Austin with a smile as Jaggedstorm walked in, "What's next on the pregnant woman's eating escapades?"

"She said chicken tonight," he said, grabbing a carton of milk from the freezer, "We just pray it's breaded and not rotisserie."

"You're just like my mother!" said the cashier a wide grin beneath his trimmed mustache, "Father always used to tell me that when she was pregnant with me, all she wanted was rotisserie. Problem was, he hated the smell!"

"To think that they dedicate a heated counter to them at Cub Foods!" said Jaggedstorm, snagging a pack of chicken and jelly beans, "Got a pack?"

"On the house!" Austin called, tossing a green Marlboro pack over the counter. As he checked out his things, Jaggedstorm noticed some spray paint covering a wall of the gas station across the street.

"I see Ernesto got raided again."

"Yeah," said Austin in sympathetic irritation, "Bunch of white kids who think racism is the new cool. Retards probably would've committed fraud to vote for Trump twice."

"Ever tell you how glad I am that I hate politics?"

"Not enough, you lucky bastard," said the cashier, handing him the bag, "Have a nice day."

Bag in hand, Jaggedstorm stepped outside and grabbed his weed, taking a hit as he observed the graffiti. The gas station was the unfortunate epicenter of the vandalism attacks since Ernesto, the owner, worked his ass off to paint over it. Most times it was dumb shit, like "Trump 2024" or "Build the wall." Sometimes, it would go to racial slurs, which made everyone uncomfortable.

But Jaggedstorm was glad that he wasn't politically involved. He had always seen politics as cannon fodder for useless arguments, and he was very okay holding his peace in one of the most politically divided counties in Texas. Means he could sleep in on election day and watch boxing. That was a much better way to spend your time than putting your ideals on paper so you could be just another insignificant placed into a majority that probably wasn't going to win anyway. The only time he would consider voting is if Austin decided to sell his shop and run for sheriff.

Until then, he was content driving into town every day to pick up whatever meal his woman was craving that day. That was just fine by him.

But today, the graffiti said something strange. Instead of its usual bombastic pastel smearings, the text was _very_ neat. Almost as if it were text on a page.

The writing read: "Nos sunt, et omnes hostias de dolo de Luna."

Sounded fancy. Latin, perhaps. Maybe the vandalists were finally getting an education.

Regardless, Jaggedstorm paid no attention to it any longer, crushing the used cigar under his heel and walking back to the truck to enjoy a lovely dinner with his wife.

* * *

But that night, the bad dreams came.

Cliche as that sounded, these nightmares rocked Jaggedstorm. He squirmed around under his thin sheet, rolling around as gunfire rocked his brain. Images of blood and gore burned behind his eyelids. Voices long gone crackled in his ears like firecrackers.

When he was pulled back into consciousness, he gasped awake. Sweat dampened his brow and his heart hammered recklessly in his chest. Hands shaking, he got up from his resting place beside Marblestrike and hurried to the bathroom.

As he covered his face in a cold washcloth, he tried to come to terms with what he had seen. It had been a while since he had a PTSD attack, let alone one of that magnitude, but it seemed to be the same old things he saw. Just...more vibrant.

His instinct led his arm to the medicine cabinet behind the window, but his mind stopped him from opening and downing the white unmarked bottle of pills. He felt the familiar knot in his stomach twist in disgust as he stared down the container.

The container was full of paroxetine, which helped suppress the nightmares that would haunt him on a spontaneous basis. Jaggedstorm had no problem with the pills themselves, as they worked wonders every time, but rather the knowledge of where he got them from.

Specifically, the knowledge that Coalstrike was addicted to these same kinds of pills.

God, he hated the man. Jaggedstorm wasn't his number one fan, especially due to his recklessness and lack of coherent professionalism, but it all got out of hand when that recklessness led to the death of his brother, Jetstorm.

Five years ago, Jetstorm, Ambercloud and Dustleap were caught up in a house fire that Coalstrike's psychotic stalker, Inferno, had set. Dustleap had been the only survivor, and while there were no other bodies found, it would take the wackiest and most insane of conspiracy theorists to even think that they had survived. There was no chance.

And it was all Coalstrike's fault. Inferno had been chasing him down for years and Coalstrike had just been avoiding him for the same amount of time.

That was all it took for Jaggedstorm and Coalstrike, once on the same deployment team in Iraq under Bush, to have a disastrous fallout. Even holding the same pills he knew he also took regularly made Jaggedstorm's blood boil.

But relief was more important the respecting a longstanding grudge, so he swallowed his pride with the three pills and the glass of water he took thirty seconds later.

Jaggedstorm stared at his shirtless figure, trying to silently convince himself that he would get through this. His child was well on the way and he knew that he needed to be strong. He couldn't let his PTSD, grief of his brother or his hatred of Coalstrike stand in his way.

There was too much for him to lose.

So with a deep breath and a silent oath that he would try his best to keep, Jaggedstorm shut off the bathroom light and returned to bed, snuggling up close to his peacefully-sleeping wife.

"_I will protect you to my dying days,_" he whispered in her ear as he drifted off to sleep once more.

But not for long.

**THUMP.**

Immediately the couple was up and alert, sitting up and turning on the light as they listened for another noise.

**THUMP.**

"Robber?" asked Marblestrike, on edge.

"Lock the door." said Jaggedstorm, grabbing a pair of shorts from the floor and heading out quickly, "I'll be back soon."

Making sure to be very quiet, Jaggedstorm snuck downstairs to the main floor and to a rather ugly painting of a school of fish in a lake. He took down the painting and set it aside, revealing a safe.

Behind the safe was a Magnum .357 and six packs of bullets. This was Jaggedstorm's favorite pistol and his go-to for emergency situations. He loaded the chamber and swept the house, ready for a confrontation with a teenager who had to have grown a set of titanium balls to even step on his property.

But after a search through the main floor, he couldn't find any signs of life or a robbery. Everything seemed to be intact. Calling a false alarm, Jaggedstorm lowered his gun and took a sigh of relief.

"_Getting a little rusty, aren't we, Jaggedstorm?"_

The man whipped around to see a figure draped in shadow, hands laced behind his back calmly. Though most of his face was obscured, he could see a confident smirk glowing in the man's green eyes.

Jaggedstorm didn't hesitate, cocking the gun and aiming it right at his head. "You better have a good fucking reason for even daring to step foot in my house."

"Woah, woah, woah," said the man in black, holding his hands up as he inched closer and closer, "No need for violence. I just want to talk."

"_And I just want to put twenty bullets through your thick skull right now. So get the fuck out of my house and I just might reconsider._"

The man's face soured.

"I'm afraid that's not gonna happen."

Jaggedstorm fired, cocking to reload only to see that the man was still standing and smirking. It took a glance to see that the bullet had not hit.

But a second glance told him the the bullet was at rest in midair, a good foot away from it's target.

"What the fuck?!" shouted Jaggedstorm in shock.

"Neat trick, eh?" said the man, pulling something out of his pocket, "Now then, down to business."

Before Jaggedstorm could pull the trigger, the man whipped out what looked to be an old-fashioned pocket watch. He flinched, blinking in confusion as he pressed the button on top and releasing the second hand.

_Tick, tick, tick_ went the watch as Jaggedstorm watched with confusion. As the seconds ticked by, he noticed that he couldn't look away. Something about this item was entrancing him, pulling him in.

Faster and faster went the second-hand until it spun like a top, now a thin blur as the minute and hours were pulled along by the change in speed. The sensation pulled him in further and further. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to now.

Finally, the clock slowed to a halt. Jaggedstorm watched as the watch slowed to its satisfying conclusion at midnight, the final seconds ticking away.

The moment the watch struck midnight, Jaggedstorm blinked and returned to sentience.

He was back on his bed, still clothed and surrounded by observers. He could pick out Marblestrike, who was extremely tense, and two police officers standing over him.

"Thank God you're alright!" said his wife, hugging him tightly as he blinked in confusion, "I thought we lost you!"

"What...what happened?" said Jaggedstorm, who felt like he had woken up from the world's longest nap.

"Miss Marblestrike here called us in for a break-in," said one of the officers, "She found you unconscious on the floor and bleeding from the arm."

He gestured to his right arm, which was bandaged and stained with dry blood. Jaggedstorm blinked several times. He didn't remember getting that.

"Can you remember anything from last night?" said the second officer.

Jaggedstorm tried to recall. He remembered taking the dream suppressant and hearing the break-in. He remembered grabbing the gun from its hideaway and sweeping the house, but then…

Nothing. He couldn't recall anything about the attack or what the assailant even looked like.

"No…" said Jaggedstorm quietly. It was like a part of his memory had been surgically removed from his brain.

The two officers nodded and pulled a distraught Marblestrike aside, likely giving their phone numbers if something like that happened again. Jaggedstorm turned his attention to his bandaged arm, running a finger along the gauze covering the separated skin.

Yet for a couple of moments, he swore he could see a faint blue glow beneath the bandage.

But when he blinked again, it was gone, as if it had been an illusion this whole time.

* * *

**Who is this mysterious masked man?**

**Someone very important for later.**

**Sorry for the wait. Waiting on the sidelines, as cool as it seems, can get me restless. This is a chapter I pulled together just so I didn't seem like I was on hiatus, and it also introduces two new characters you'll be seeing a lot more of.**

**Jaggedstorm, in fact, is not my OC. All credit goes to Daggerstorm of Riverclan, who read over and pre-approved this chapter. So no need to get on my case for sneaky theft.**

**Hope you enjoyed this bonus chapter. I'll be back soon with one of my most anticipated chapters yet. Personally, I think it's gonna blow your mind...**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	27. Tributary Obituary (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

**TRIBUTARY OBITUARY**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE WITH INTENSE CONTEMPLATION OF SUICIDE. IF THIS TOPIC UPSETS YOU, PLEASE SKIP THE FINAL PART OF THIS CHAPTER OR DISREGARD THIS CHAPTER ALTOGETHER.**

**IF YOU OR A LOVED ONE ARE IN MENTAL DISTRESS AND CONSIDERING SUICIDE, PLEASE CALL THE SUICIDE PREVENTION HOTLINE AT 1-800-273-8255. REMEMBER THAT NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE AND WHAT HARDSHIPS YOU FACE, YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A PURPOSE AND YOU WILL ALWAYS BE LOVED.**

* * *

Sofia "Daffodil" Bennett was once considered to be one of the best writers in the United States when she graduated from high school.

If you were to ask any of her high school teachers about her before they knew of her greatness, they would shrug, silently facepalming that they didn't see the prodigy-level material in her eyes. When she wasn't with a pen and paper, she was an average student. Couple of friends, B's and C's on her tests, there seemed to be nothing special about her.

Then came the first essay. An analysis paper on Fahrenheit 451.

Mrs. Rinder would say in her letter of recommendation that she received 53 essays trying to say the same thing with different words. Books were important to society and nothing would function without them, blah blah blah. Bennett had found a message completely different. Rinder joked that she was _this close_ to submitting her two weeks' notice just from the pain of giving C's to boring papers when she picked up the fourth-to-last essay. She did a double take when the title read "Creativity for the General Audience: How Fahrenheit 451 Accidentally Conceptualizes a Visceral Transcending of the Reality We Strive For."

It was six pages of magic. An enthralling argument of how the concept of surrounding yourself with your fantasy amid your TV would and will always be more popular to an audience with eight-second attention spans and how books would have become obsolete anyway if they weren't illegal.

She not only gave a perfect score on it, but she also brought her in for a meeting and asked for her permission to submit the paper to The New Yorker, to which she accepted with a shocked look imprinted on her face. Obviously, they didn't accept, but the writer of the rejection letter did say that they were impressed and wished her well.

When Sofia Bennett showed her the letter, Mrs. Rinder knew exactly where she needed to be in America. Persuasive investigative journalism.

So she did. With her consistent excellence in writing, she got into the Medill School of Journalism in Northwestern, but dropped out after only two years. That was because the New York Times got hands on her profile and were "blown away," as the author of the job request said.

So there she was. A prodigious writer at one of the greatest news companies in the world.

So how does that translate to "resistance soldier on Lindisfarne?"

It began with the murder of George Floyd.

With the population riled up by their own testosterone thanks to the pandemic, America was plunged into chaos. Bennett didn't really mind. She was equally as mortified at the atrocity committed by the officers, but she wasn't really a political person. The only notable piece of work that came out of her was an article called "Commedia and the City on Fire," a simple comparison of Dante's Commedia to the chaos on the streets of Minneapolis.

This was just a source for news. Bennett was just waiting for the next fit of chaos.

And it came quickly. Just not in the vein that she was ready for.

On June 3, 2020, an op-ed opinion article called "Send in the Military" was published on the opinion page. It was written by Republican then-Senator Tom Cotton and amidst a majority-left audience, it riled up a _lot_ of people. It didn't really bother Bennett, though. In fact, she found it intriguing that a pro-military essay was high-quality enough to transcend the flaming trash pile that was Fox News.

But four days later, the opinion writers declared mutiny and ousted the editor of seventeen years for good.

_That _made her mad.

The higher-ups could blab about how much James Bennet slacked on the quality check and how it was a dumb move and he wasn't ready to lead the leg of the newspaper to the future, but that wasn't at all what Bennett saw.

In an all or nothing society dominated by liberal voices, defiance, _this_ sort of defiance and questioning of the goals they held at the left hand of the Father, was not allowed.

The editor didn't get fired because he let an underqualified essay run. He got fired because he let a _different_ essay run.

That pissed off Sofia Bennett.

So she hit back.

She wrote a scathing essay titled "Confessions of a Republican-Censorship Contributor," relentlessly attacking the left media for suppressing and staining the voices of those who weren't exactly like them. She said that the left's "all or nothing" philosophy was the true thing pulling America apart like a buttered dinner roll.

Obviously, publishing something like this wasn't going to go under her name. So she consulted a random word generator to pick an alias.

The first word was Daffodil.

So she anonymously submitted the essay as an op-ed. Three days later, it was published and released hell on earth.

The following day, she stupidly sent in her two weeks' notice.

It didn't take a genius to make the connection.

Just as she expected, everyone turned on her. Those who once adored her writing made Facebook and Twitter accounts to deem her a secret Trump supporter with the bare minimum of competence to read and ambush her with all caps tweets asking her politely to jam a horse dildo up her ass and go the hell herself (along with a good old gif of Nicki Minaj flipping off the camera).

There was a limit to what she could take, though, so eventually, she sold her house and moved to Lindisfarne, where she worked as a cashier at a hardware store to pay the bills on her one-story bungalow.

Sometime later, she would meet Ashtooth, join the resistance after the attack on Lindisfarne, and forget about the career that she destroyed with her MacBook Pro.

Until the Times came crawling back to her and offered her a job.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Sofia Bennett?"

Daffodil immediately did a double-take, flashing a glance to Ashtooth that something was up.

"Who is this?" she responded, suspicion leaking from her voice.

"This is Daniel Brazelton from the New York Times. Am I speaking to Sofia Bennett?"

Daffodil barely caught an involuntary gasp in her throat, but the noise of resistance was enough to make Ashtooth flare-up in alarm. '_What?'_ he mouthed.

'_It's the Times._'

Ashtooth froze, blinked, and after a momentary consideration, gestured with his finger to comply with the call.

"Yes. Do you need anything?"

"Although I understand you don't have much interest in talking with us, we have an offer to make you."

"Ssssssure." said Daffodil, now confused beyond belief.

"Well, it's been six days since Forrestlake got bombed and we've received requests to create a tributary obituary."

"Really? Like the one during COVID-19?"

"Exactly, and while we know that there are countless victims, we were thinking that since the mass exodus is close to passing, you would do a cross-reference of the refugees passing through with the census along with other sources here at the Times. We'd pay you handsomely as well. I think that with you, I can insert a carte blanche value into management's hands and pressure them into accepting."

Daffodil sat on the air mattress where she slept, eyes wide.

They were paying her to do one of the easiest jobs the Times could think of.

"I'm sorry, I need to think about this."

Without waiting for a response, she put the call on hold and left the room, gesturing for Ashtooth to follow.

"So?" he said gently.

"They want me to help draft a tributary obituary."

"Like COVID?"

"Yep. They're offering carte blanche."

"Damn," said Ashtooth, slowly taking it in.

The two stood in silence for a couple of seconds, the only ambiance coming from the occasional Jeep from up above the remains of the Underground, where the Resistance was holed up.

"I don't know," said Daffodil worriedly, "I'm just so confused. Why would the Times go back to _me _of all people?"

"Well," he said, chuckling, "as much hate as you got, you did send them into a bit of a skid. Trump was praising you like you were the daughter of Jesus for _weeks_."

"Don't remind me," she scoffed, "I don't know. I guess I'm just paranoid."

"Says the woman who was slapping me on the wrist for those same knots in my stomach a couple of weeks ago."

"Har har," she retorted, smirking, "So what do you think I should do?"

"Oh, don't ask me!" he responded immediately, "Listen, you have the mind of a Pulitzer Prize winner inside your skull. In a perfect world where Lindisfarne doesn't get bombed, I'd recommend that you stay at the Times, even past the blowout. You'd do so many great things! You'd probably have to get a closet for the number of awards you'd win. But you chose instead to stick around with a lowlife like me."

"You're oh so charming," said Daffodil, smiling as she wrapped her arms around Ashtooth's back, their faces now very close together, "But you suck at getting your point across."

"My point is it was your choice to pull that mic drop. It was your choice to follow me into this life. None of it was me. That's how it has been and how it will be now."

Daffodil nodded, letting her head process the offer one final time.

Fifteen seconds later, she had a plan.

"I'll do it."

"Alright."

"_Under a couple conditions._"

"Oh really?"

"Five hundred grand to a Forrestlake reimbursement fund and a kiss from the love of my life."

Immediately, half of her wish was granted. The two held the kiss for a couple seconds before breaking apart, witty smirks on their faces.

"Shall I get the Bon Jovi soundtrack playing?"

"I hate you."

"So you've told me," shot back Ashtooth, "Go tell that man you're in. I have to go talk to Seashell."

Daffodil broke away, standing at the door before stopping.

"Ash?"

"Hm?"

A faint glimmer of worry shined in her eyes, but she pushed it away. "Keep this between us."

"Of course."

* * *

**Nine Days Later...**

**(continues from Chapter 51 of The New Era)**

Dusty lay on his mattress, staring at the ceiling in contemplation and nothing but a pair of black sweatpants.

He needed a plan.

He couldn't stay like this forever, holed up in the back of an abandoned and looted gas station on the edge of Skyfair City. He and Sunfield could only get by for so long before BloodClan caught wind that there were stragglers around this joint. Besides, the stores were looted and there were only so many non-perishables the two could share before the city was drained for good.

He needed to somehow join up with the resistance. The problem was that he had no idea where they were. Cell reception was long gone, there were no trackers active on his phone and the group as a whole was broken up almost entirely.

Jaywhisker had carried him and Sunfield away from the blast radius minutes after the explosion before flying back. Other than him, he had no idea if the others were even alive.

_No_, he chided himself, shutting his eyes tight. He had to keep hope. There was no way that they were gonna stop Rock or ARS if he didn't believe that there was a chance.

But even then, Sunfield was all he had.

"YOU ARE MY SUUUUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUUUUNSHINE,

YOU MAKE ME HAAAAPY, WHEN SKIES ARE GRAAAAY…"

That alone was a double-edged sword.

"_Are you trying to get us caught?_" snapped Dusty as Sunfield returned to the long-busted freezer room where they slept.

"Relaaaaax," said the boy, throwing a bag down as he moved his hair out of his face with his hands, "We're fine. I circled the block. There's not a Jeep for miles."

"That's what you said when your greedy ass led you to a flatscreen TV."

"Oh come on," he retorted as he grabbed a half-eaten box of cereal and opened the bag, "We got the TV and learned that BloodClan is composed of nothing more than depressed divorcees and virgins in their 30s. I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"You got lucky," said Dusty, eating a handful of cereal out of his hand, "You can't charm the pants off of everyone."

"Oh, I dunno," he shot back with a sly grin, "I seem to be doing that to you quite well."

Dusty did a hasty double-take and looked between his legs, causing Sunfield to burst into laughter. "_Asshole_," he muttered, flopping back onto his mattress as the boy got a hold of himself.

The golden-haired boy made the wise decision to shut up, draining out the box of raisin bran as Dusty rested on his side, back to him.

Yeesh. This kid was _dense_.

Sunfield accepted that they weren't really on the best foot. Hell, the first time they talked, Dusty was holding a knife to his throat, but at the time, he just accepted it as paranoia. Ever since the Riven raid they hadn't been clicking at all. One of two things happened. Either Dusty was in a bad mood and ignored his attempts at playful banter or he himself did some dumb shit and Dusty snapped at him for being such an idiot.

Speaking of the latter…

Their shouting match the previous day made him squirm.

"_WHEN WILL YOU SEE THAT LIFE IS NOT A GAME?! THAT LIFE IS NOT A JOKE?! THAT YOUR LIFE ISN'T A JOKE?!"_

That stung.

A lot.

He knew that life wasn't a joke. He accepted that as much as anyone, but the blow felt like he had just insulted his religion.

It had been a long time since he had been hurt by words. Not since…

No. He refused to let his mind go to _him_.

"What do I gotta do?" he said out loud.

"Hm?" said Dusty, barely even acknowledging his presence.

"I wanna be your friend," he said cautiously, "What do I gotta do?"

Dusty was quiet for a couple seconds, making Sunfield worry that he had just riled him up further, but he sat up, his voice quiet.

"You can trust me."

Sunfield's eyes widened. "I do!"

"Yeah, going off on your own and almost getting yourself killed is a big reassurance."

His eyes fell to his shoes in guilt, but when he looked up he saw how miserable Dusty looked, his eyes red and wet.

"Did…" he started, "Did you see the New York Times?"

"No…"

"They, uh...they put in a special edition. A list of the names of the victims of the bombing."

Sunfield felt his stomach fill with dread.

Dusty gulped, letting the pain of what he was about to say resurface.

"Axis is dead."

Sunfield gasped, hands drifting to cover his mouth as Dusty tried to keep himself together.

"Dusty...I'm so…"

"You're all I've got, Sunfield…" he whimpered, lip quivering, "My boyfriend is dead, my parents are probably rolling in their graves, the resistance is gone and we're stuck in the middle of nowhere robbing stores for food. You are the last thing I have. I can't lose you...Not you too…"

Dusty began to cry, head bowed and tears dripping onto his pants.

He gasped suddenly as he felt arms wrap around him.

"It's gonna be okay," said Sunfield gently, smiling as he tightened the hug, "Things are gonna get better. I know they will."

Jesus. Even in the midst of nuclear fallout, the kid somehow found it in him to smile.

Dusty returned the gesture and sobbed into his shoulder, returning the hug tightly.

Their first sign of camaraderie.

Their first sign of friendship.

"Listen," said Sunfield a couple minutes later, "I will trust you on a couple of conditions. If you keep your head up, your chin high and if you don't back down. We've got a battle to fight and as long as you never back down, I'll be right here by your side."

Dusty nodded, wiping his eyes as Sunfield outstretched his hand.

"Do you trust me?"

Dusty only hesitated a moment before taking it, smirking with a newfound spark of confidence.

"Yes."

He nodded before turning around and grabbing his bags.

"Shall we get the hell out of dodge?"

Dusty nodded, grabbing a shirt from the corner. "Let's get the hell out of dodge."

* * *

"This is the official first test video test video of Bluejay Mark 7."

Jaywhisker checked that the camera was on the tripod before stepping back, slipping the sleek, remodeled gauntlets and thrusters on his hands and feet respectively.

He closed his eyes, inhaling a moment before preparing to test.

"3...2...1…"

Vibrant blue light shot out of the components, filling the room with smoke and a loud whirring sound, almost like the purring of a lion with a microphone taped to his throat.

Slowly, he levitated until he was five feet in the air. He held for thirty seconds before disengaging, dropping back to the ground and slipping out of his gear. There was no celebratory aura or signs of drinking. His face showed resolved calm. It was almost eerie.

"Alright," he said, "I'm done. Foxleap, I know you're watching this. You're smart enough to figure out how to put the pieces back together. The other six suits are stored further into Riven, there's a video with instructions somewhere. I couldn't give a shit at this point."

Jaywhisker shrugged. "I...I guess this is my note now. All I have to say for myself is this. There are two proponents of the purpose that exist for me on this planet. The first is the resistance, the merry band of dumb hooligans who dragged me to this shithole. Last I heard, they were assisting refugees in the Underground, y'know, with supplies and shit. As much as they piss me off, they're good people. I, being the opposite of a good person, do not deserve their company or camaraderie. Ashtooth, Seashell, Mallowleaf, Coalstrike, Dusty, Thank you for everything you've done for me. But you all are fucking idiots for that anyway. You should have left me starving on the streets of Lindisfarne, you and I know."

"Number two…"

Jaywhisker stuttered, remorse sneaking into the dying twinkle in his eyes.

"Three days ago, the New York Times released an obituary of those confirmed dead in the bombing. Since I'm about to kill myself, you can guess who was on the list pretty damn quickly."

"I first met Russetleap at the airport in Minneapolis. He had been abandoned by his parents there and was expected to ship himself to Lindisfarne. Y'know, I've always planned on killing myself for reasons you know but I will not disclose here, because when I arrived here, I was a depressed insomniac video game addict who had lost his spark for engineering."

"Russ did the impossible. He convinced me that I was actually _worth_ something. Something, no offense, absolutely no one had ever convinced me of legitimately. He was my purpose. He was the reason I was alive."

"And now he's gone. So I'm done."

Jaywhisker paused, glancing around the room he was holed up in.

"Alright, I'm done. Good luck with everything. Hopefully, you'll complete my fist-bump from hell when you eventually help rebuild society. Because you all are special. You all have worth. I don't. And you can't convince me otherwise."

"But thanks for everything. That's all I've got to say. Jaywhisker out."

He shut off the camera, exported the 19 videos he had made over the last week to the USB drive, and set it on the table. He scribbled a crude bluejay on the white label, set it on top of the computer, and left the room behind.

He made his way through the catacombs of what remained of Riven. In his pillaging of Foxleap's secret information, he had found a bunker of sorts that Poppyfrost had begrudgingly allowed him to commission. When the bombs blew, Jaywhisker got Dusty and Sunfield out of the blast radius, and after a nasty encounter with BloodClan, who had taken over the mansion, retreated to the bunker, which was thankfully still intact though it did take some flipping.

He thought he could work to perfect the suit so that he could swing back into action.

And then he found out Russ was dead.

And he collapsed in record time.

So there he was, emerging from the underground about a hundred feet from the bunker. He found himself walking through the dead, dry forest under he came to a cliff overlooking a lake.

This seemed like a good place. If he shifted his center of mass forward, his body would fall into the lake. A suitable resting place for a despicable sinner.

So he pulled out his pistol, loaded it, and inserted the barrel into his mouth. He relaxed, willing his heart to be calm for its final moments of function, and closed his eyes.

_I'm sorry, Russ_, he thought, _I hope you're at peace, wherever you are._

**CLANG!**

Suddenly, something hit the hand holding his gun, ripping the pistol out of his mouth and causing him to waver and fall on his ass. Just as he looked around to see what interfered with his suicide, he felt a second object his opposite hand and his wrists were thrust together into a position not unlike handcuffs.

He looked down in fury but stopped when he saw his gauntlets.

"What the fuck?"

He tried pulling them apart to no avail. This was not part of the plan. Why were the gauntlets suddenly active and restraining him?

The answer came when he saw that the lights of the photon beams, usually dark blue, were street light green.

"Oh."

There was only one condition where the photon emitters would turn green.

A code line called FAILSAFE255.

A set of 255 lines of code Foxleap developed himself. It was a failsafe mode for the suit that would have it automatically detect when it's user was in mortal peril and it was away from the suit. Jaywhisker wasn't completely sure how the code worked since he never spent any time looking into it, so he had forgotten it until the moment it was most inconvenient for him.

And since he had no idea how the set worked, he had no idea how to override or disable it.

Meaning he needed Foxleap to do it himself without him finding out that he intended to kill himself.

"Shit."

Thanks to the goddamn code, it was impossible to kill himself now.

But Foxleap would certainly find a way here. This was his best-kept secret (which, he admitted, was hardly impressive), so he would have to come by here.

Until then, Jaywhisker inwardly resigned, he would have to wait to shake Satan's hand in person for another day.

* * *

**Well, ain't this a treat. I haven't posted a 4,000-word chapter in quite some time.**

**If you've been keeping tabs on this miniverse, you know that Jay dropped two nuclear bombs on both Forrestlake and Riven. This chapter was originally gonna be the final moments of the characters that would die, but that was a very low-quality chapter, so I scrapped it. If I manage to stick around, I might include it in extra scenes and outtakes after the story is over.**

**And now it's time for some author confessions.**

**I had _no_ plan for Daffodil whatsoever. When I originally pitched the concept to Jay, this was gonna mainly be an overhaul of the events from The Holy Island, the forum this miniverse is based on. Daffodil was a kittypet who ran away after meeting Ashtooth and became his mate, so I kept her in. She's been dull as a metal sphere since I wrote her into existence months ago, so I _finally _decided to give her a backstory. I kind of like what I came up with in the end, especially because of how hasty I was.**

**I _also_ had no plan for Dusty and Sunfield until Jay showed off how he was his pride and joy. Their first interaction I struggled with for a long time since Sunfield's character trait was out of my league, but now these two are really fun to write together. You'll be seeing more of them in the future, that's for sure.**

**And this is the first trigger warning I have genuine concern about. I know suicide is a..._sensitive_ topic on this website, but this is Jaywhisker. A man who has narrowed down his purpose to the things he never thought would leave him this soon.**

**Out of all the characters I've ever written, he's the closest to reality I've ever dared to tread.**

**But back on topic, I'll repeat my request from the beginning of the chapter. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. They do wonders and helped me out of a dark time. I trust that they will do the same to you if you call for help.**

**I plan to upload one more chapter, but on the 3rd, I'm traveling to see my extended family (while adhering to the guidelines of social distancing, of course). I'll be out of commission for a week before I get back in action. Don't get too concerned if I disappear for a week or longer. I will be back. Promise.**

**Alright, I've rambled long enough. Have a great day, stay safe and keep your brain in tip-top shape.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	28. Society of Traitors (TW)

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

**SOCIETY OF TRAITORS**

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND GORE THAT IS ACTUALLY WELL WRITTEN FOR ONCE. IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE SKIP THE FIRST PART OF THIS CHAPTER OR CONSIDER SKIPPING THIS CHAPTER ALTOGETHER**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: For continuity purposes, the days after the Forrestlake bombing will be tracked in Days. For example, Day 0 is the day of the bombing, Day 1 is the day after, etc. Hopefully this isn't too confusing. Let me know if you would like me to change it back.**

* * *

**DAY 0**

**Takes place after Chapter 50 of The New Era**

"Who the hell is this guy?!" snapped Jayfeather, powering up.

No one bothered to give him an answer. Fernsong looked as if he was trying to dig up something in his memory to tell him who he was, but Jay's Wing beat him to it, face contorting into rage.

"_You…_" he snarled.

"Yep. Me," said Garrison, "How's it going? I see you guys are giving out free hugs and spilling secrets over teatime."

Firestar stepped in front of the group, gun drawn and pointed right between Garrison's eyes. By now, the trademark charming smile was long gone, replaced by an ugly scowl.

Garrison just scoffed. "Well, if it isn't Forrestlake's prized playboy."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you back to hell first class right now."

"Oh, _relax_," sighed the man, rolling his eyes, "I'm not gonna kill you, no. You got a city… or what's left of it, rather, to lead. No no. I'm only going to kill _him_."

He pointed right at Jay's Wing, whose eyes were steely and showing no signs of remorse or fear.

Fernsong just laughed. "You really think that you can waltz on in here and stop the most powerful men in the universe with nothing but a shotgun?"

"No."

Garrison dropped the shotgun, kicked it aside and removed his black helmet, revealing the stubbled man with aggression and smarts beyond his dark green eyes.

"I don't bring guns to a fistfight. Too much of an advantage."

Fernsong just scoffed in disgust, but Firestar's eyes hardened with his grip as rage burned in the iconically-charismatic eyes. "You're talking a lot of shit for a lowlife rapist."

That struck a nerve. Immediately Jayfeather and Fernsong were powering up as Garrison slinked closer to the muzzle of Firestar's gun.

"So you looked up my prison records. Big deal. What are you gonna do, threaten me with life in prison?" Garrison straightened, "Or is this part of your next campaign? Arrest every seventeenth person you walk by because there's a statistical chance they're a rapist? Or try for the thousandth time in history to fix up a system that can be corrupted with a couple of hundreds? They may see you as some bigshot CIA bigot, but to me, you're nothing more than a politician whose parents let them play around with guns."

Firestar didn't react, but Fernsong certainly did. He roared, charging at Garrison and throwing the largest haymaker he'd ever dared to swing.

The hit landed, and the impact forced a gust of wind which made Jayfeather duck and Firestar flinch.

Both looked up, expecting to at least see a sizeable dent in Garrison's skull.

Jayfeather's eyes widened in horror.

Garrison wasn't just alive and standing. He had _caught the punch_. He didn't look like he even flinched.

"What?!" snapped Fernsong, "HOW?!"

The commander just smirked.

"Like I said. Even playing field."

He shoved Fernsong away and stepped back, revealing his body surrounded in a pearly white aura. His skin glowed like a dull lightbulb, illuminating the well-earned cocky grin on Garrison's face.

Jay's Wing's eyes widened in horror. "Impossible…" he breathed.

There was only one way that Garrison could have survived that punch.

"He has a Moonstone."

"_WHAT?!"_ snapped the three others in shock.

Garrison just chuckled, his skin now the brightness of a desk lamp. "Give the old man a prize."

"That's impossible!" roared Fernsong, "Rock has all of them!"

"Well, I'd ramble on to you about our 'master plan' and how we're gonna take over the world and shit, but then again, you are wasting a lot of time. Yours, mine and about two million people who are going to die in less than three minutes."

Jayfeather growled, his blue aura engulfing his figure. "Then we'll just have to kill you quicker than usual."

Garrison took the hint, arranging himself to a fighting stance.

"Try me."

The parties charged, Jayfeather in the lead accompanied by a near-feral battle cry.

He swung a haymaker at Garrison, desperate to make contact, but the commander was faster, grabbing his wrist and ramming his opposite elbow right between his ribs. The breath flew out of him as his arm was flung down and knocked aside with a blow to the side of the head.

Fernsong was right on his tail, but Garrison quickly redirected his blow, spun on his soles underneath the clenched fist and landed a brutal punch to the back of his head, flooring him almost immediately.

Firestar charged right at him, gun in hand, but the resulting shot grazed the side of the commander's head. Unfazed, he ripped the gun out of his grip and horse collared him to the stone floor by the throat, sending the leader into a momentary wheezing fit. Quickly, Garrison grabbed him by the collar and threw him up against the wall.

Jay's Wing tried to take the opportunity to land a blow, but the commander turned and swung his foot up into his jaw, unbalancing him enough for a second blow to the chest to send him stumbling away. However, Firestar took this second-long distraction to grab a combat knife from his back pocket and slam it into the side of Garrison's neck.

He roared in pain, but it wasn't nearly enough to deter him as he ripped the knife from the wound, threw it to the ground and disposed of Forrestlake's leader by flinging him away from the wall and flooring him with an elbow to the back of the neck. Jay's Wing was back on him, though, as the knife flew to his hand.

He swung at Garrison, skinning his upper spine and shredding his shirt, and used his moments of unbalance to grip both of his wrists and ram his foot into his stomach, sending the commander slamming against the wall. Jay's Wing gripped the knife, preparing a killing blow, but at the last moment, Garrison slid away, sending the blade into the wall. Fast as lightning, he gripped the weapon-wielding wrist, sent an elbow to the side of the head and kicked him between the leg joints, making his legs give out.

Suddenly, as Garrison pried the knife from the wall, Fernsong charged again, flooring the commander with a massive headbutt and stamping down on his chest. Fueled with rage, he pried the knife from Garrison's fist, twirled it, and tried to end it. Barely, though, did the commander edge out the blow by whipping his head to the side and causing Fernsong to lodge the blade into the floor. Using the impact force, he whipped a blow to the shoulder and landed a brutal punch to Fernsong's head, sending it bouncing against the hard concrete and causing blood to pour out from the wound immediately.

Garrison grabbed the worn and twisted blade from the ground and tried to knock Fernsong out of the battle for good, but a sudden force on his ankle interfered. He turned around to see Jayfeather, hand outstretched with a blue aura wrapped around his ankle like a house arrest cuff. Almost comically was the assassin dragged across the ground, dulling the blade he held in hopes for some grip to resist.

By now, Jay's Wing was back on his feet. Using his telekinesis, he slipped the blade through Garrison's fingers and into his outstretched hand, taking the nod from Jayfeather to send the blade to his throat.

"_You're finished, motherfucker,_" he snarled as he flung the blade right at his throat.

But the moment the blade went into freefall, a pearly white aura froze the knife in midair. Working quickly off of the sudden confusion, Garrison flung the butt of the blade square at Jay's Wing's skull with the force of a brick. There was a resounding _crack_, making Jayfeather hesitate and waver long enough for Garrison to break out of the unseen grip, stumble to his knees and whip out his left hand. A snow-like circle gripped Jayfeather's neck as he was thrust right into Garrison's uppercut and flung into the air like a crash test dummy.

Garrison looked for the knife quickly, but found it in Firestar's grip as he slashed him across the chest. He stumbled back, but as Firestar tried to land another slice, he grabbed the blade out of the air, feeling the sharpness sever the skin on his fingers, and twisted his wrist. With a _snap_, the blade was snapped right off of the knife like a twig. Adjusting his grip so he held the blade like a shuriken, he whipped it down and across Firestar's body with one clean swipe, slicing right through his clothes and scoring a nasty scar from his shoulder to his stomach.

Fernsong tried to get to his feet, woozy from the concussion he had just been dealt, but Garrison saw his feebleness and flung the blade. With Moonstone-assisted precision, the blade sliced right between Fernsong's ribs, causing him to crumple over, screaming in agony.

Jayfeather was back up, adrenaline pumping like needles through his blood. He roared and charged the commander, swinging punch after sloppy, ill-timed, weary punch that Garrison easily parried. After three swings, he reached over and gripped his shoulder, causing him to stumble, and roundhoused right into his spine, which sent him sliding across the cold concrete floor.

It was clear that Garrison now comfortably held the upper hand. Regardless, Firestar tried to land one more blow with what was left of his knife, but Garrison whipped his hand out, restraining the leader's wrist in midair, and sent a twirling roundhouse kick right into his jaw. Another _snap_ inside of his mouth reminded Firestar painfully of his humanity as he was tossed aside to the floor.

It seemed like all was lost for the four heroes until Garrison was floored with a massive blow to the back of the head. Looking up, he saw Jay's Wing, hand outstretched to receive his loaded shotgun and cock it instantly.

_Shit,_ he thought.

Garrison, thinking quickly, stumbled backwards mid-standing to avoid the shot. With a _BANG_, the pellet grazed his hairline by the width of his fingernail, and the commander curled into a backward somersault and rolled back onto his feet. Ducking out of Jayfeather's attempt to restrain him, he sent out his aura to grip the shotgun and flung it aside.

As Jay's Wing recovered from the disarming, he caught a momentary glance between him and Jayfeather. He quickly assumed they were planning a double team, so he got to his feet and landed a punch right in Jayfeather's chest, sending him to the wall and discombobulating him just as the old man charged up behind him.

Even though it was two on one, Garrison dominated as the meat of the sandwich. His opponents were off sync with each other enough for Garrison to duck out of blows while landing others. Jayfeather would throw a punch which Garrison dodged by moving his head while jutting his elbow into Jay's Wing's chest and putting Jayfeather into a headlock while dealing kicks to Jay's Wing behind him. After about six or seven exchanged blows, Garrison ducked, thrust his shoulder into Jayfeather's chest and threw his body into Jay's Wing. Without a second glance, the commander grabbed Jayfeather by the collar and with one mighty heave, threw him over his shoulder and flat on the ground with a _SLAM,_ knocking the wind and will to fight right out of him.

Jay's Wing, refusing to give up, stumbled to Garrison and tried to land a weary blow, but he easily parried and kicked him to the wall.

Exhausted and in pain, Jay's Wing slumped up against the wall, bleeding and swelling from head to toe.

Without looking back, Garrison reached out his right hand behind him. Fifty feet away, the shotgun slid across the ground to his hand.

"NO!" shouted Firestar hopelessly.

**BANG!**

The gunshot went right through Jay's Wing's stomach, causing blood to splash all over his body and the ground around him. He lay panting against the wall, the only things keeping him breathing being power-assisted strength and raw refusal to die.

Fernsong lay in a bloody crumpled mess, holding the wound in his chest that was so deep it nearly nicked his heart. This was definitely the first time his weakness had been exploited, Garrison resolved.

Firestar was trying desperately to crawl to Jay's Wing, blood dripping from his chest like a trail and pouring from his shattered jaw like a waterfall. After army-crawling about three feet, his muscles gave out and he slumped to the ground, defeated and on the brink of unconsciousness.

Jayfeather was coughing and wheezing like never before, the pain from his wounds working past the adrenaline in his veins as he tried to reorient himself after the body slam.

Garrison dropped the shotgun, a condescending smirk on his face as the white aura faded from around him.

As if on cue, a resounding BOOM echoed through the catacombs. The shockwave of the bombs rattled the catacombs like a small tremor.

Garrison had defeated four of the most powerful men in the world in under three minutes.

And they had lost millions of lives because of it.

_Clap._

_Clap._

_Clap._

"Wow," said Garrison, his voice slick with snark as he applauded, "I thought this would at least be an even fight. The one where the stakes are highest, the chips are all in and all of you, _all four of you_, didn't even stand a chance. If I didn't know any better, I probably would've thought that you met just yesterday."

He ruffled in his pocket and pulled out a slick black device with the design of a joystick, but with three sharp prongs on the end. He flipped the switch as he sauntered over to Jay's Wing, slowly bleeding out.

"Now then," he muttered silkily, "To business."

He crouched in front of Jay's Wing, leaning so they were eye to dying eye. "Now I've heard a lot about these Moonstones," he said, twirling the pronged instrument between his fingers, "All the powers and shit that come with it is enough to stroke the dicks of everyone on the black market, but one of the most appealing things to me has been how you have the power to live as long as Adam and Eve. I mean, look at you! You're, what, 3000 years old? You look like you're coming on 60!"

"How…" rasped Jay's Wing, "How do you know…?"

"Ah. The million dollar question," said Garrison, "The question our dear audience all around the world wants to know! Well, I'm willing to tell you my little secret if you spill yours. Because I know there's something. Something only you know but you're just dying to tell."

Jay's Wing remained silent, his only response a hardened glare.

"That's what I thought," said Garrison, clicking his tongue, "Shame. But when we get that Moonstone shard out of your bloodstream, we'll figure it out ourselves."

The old man's eyes widened.

The device Garrison was holding wasn't just a torture device.

It was an extractor.

The device that would strip away his power forever.

The device that would kill him once and for all.

"Now hold still. This won't hurt a bit," said the commander as he slowly pierced the prongs into the side of Jay's Wing's neck.

"Wait," he stuttered desperately as he felt the deadly electricity tickle the skin on his neck, "WAIT!"

Garrison relinquished the device. "Something to say?"

Jay's Wing looked him in the eye, a scowl bright on his dying face.

"_Υπάρχουν κι άλλοι. Θα σε βρουν. Θα σε σκοτώσουν._"

Garrison had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like a threat.

"Hm. Sounds like Greek," he said, nodding mockingly, "You were from the Spartan days, right? Interesting choice. Because when a non-English speaker finds themselves at the hands of God, their original dialect is often their dying words.

"I find that interesting."

Wasting no more time, Garrison stabbed the extractor into Jay's Wing's neck. Electricity screamed through his body as he let out a blood-curdling scream. He could do nothing as the very source of his life and power was stripped away.

The three others could only watch in horror as blood splattered out of the wounds and onto the ground like sewage from a pipe. The skin aged years in seconds as it wrinkled and decomposed in upon itself like a rotting orange. His fingernails fell out of his now bony fingers to the ground with an unheard clatter, his teeth rot into moldy gray and yellow chips and pieces and his eyes began to cave in on itself, retreating farther and farther back into the rotting skull as the size and life were squeezed out of it.

After about seventy seconds, Garrison finally pulled out the extraction device. Held between the prongs and dripping with blood was a bright blue shard of a Moonstone. The very last thing that kept the old man alive. Satisfied, he slipped the extractor in his pocket and walked away, grabbing his mask and shotgun as he headed towards the door.

"Well, I had a ball," said Garrison, sparing a last look at the defeated group, "Can't stay around long, though. I gotta get my people ready for nuclear fallout and all that jazz."

He slipped his mask on, covering his face in menacing black. "I did have fun, though. Maybe we could do this again sometime. Invite your friends, too. They seem like they need the shit beaten out of them sometime."

He stood at the door, watching as Jayfeather and Firestar stumbled and crawled to the withering Jay's Wing. "Catch you later. If you ever wanna fight, you know where to find me."

The door to the chamber shut with a resounding _THUD._

Jayfeather's head slumped over as he fell flat on his belly, eyes wet with grief.

"I'm sorry…" he rasped between sniffs, "We...we failed you…"

Jay's Wing didn't have many muscles left to move by now, but he managed to roll his head enough so Jayfeather could see his swiftly dying eyes.

With the last sliver of effort he could muster, he shifted his bony, withered arm so it clattered off of his lap, outstretched palm rested in front of his successor.

Taking the sign, Jayfeather took his hand.

And in that moment, he was given a transmission. A final set of telekinetic instructions, scenarios and battle plans. It was intricate, but those seconds of silent revelation and learning were enough to bring Jayfeather from grief.

In spite of his skin peeling off from his bones, Jayfeather smirked at the figure. He couldn't say he _knew_ he had a plan all along, but he was pretty damn glad that he had one regardless.

A bleeding Firestar reached out a hand to Jay's Wing's leg as he wept, grieving over the former leader. A pang of guilt ran through Jayfeather. The two must have been mentor and student.

He stumbled over to Fernsong, who for the first time looked worn out. Defeated. It was almost sickening to see from one of the most overconfident individuals he knew.

"We lost." he said quietly.

"Yeah."

The two sat in silence, grimacing at their respective pains and throbs.

"So what now?" said Fernsong, "We sure as hell didn't plan for that son of a bitch to have a Moonstone."

"We surrender."

Both looked over at Firestar, whose once-charismatic face was slumped in sullen grief and remorse. "He's won. Rock's won. He's defeated us and killed the very people I swore to protect. What more can we do now?"

"Well...we can do what Jay's Wing wanted us to do."

Firestar and Fernsong looked up, eyes suddenly bright with interest. "You have a plan?"

"I don't,"said Jayfeather, "But he does. It's a pretty damn good one."

He worked himself to his feet and offered his hand to Fernsong.

"And if we do it just right, it might be enough to save us all."

* * *

**DAY 6**

Daniel Brazelton was currently on the phone with the disgraced Sofia Bennett.

"Fantastic. How much would you like?"  
He cringed inward. Carte blanche was a move of desperation, often seen as extremely unprofessional. If anyone were to find out that this deal was going down with the very same girl that almost destroyed the company, his career was over.

"_Five hundred thousand to a Forrestlake recovery fund. And no bullshit on . A real fund. One that can help bring the island back to its feet."_

Brazelton nodded. "Anything else?"

Bennett thought for a moment. "_Whatever the cost is for an engagement ring and a three-bedroom house._"

Another unseen nod. "That can be arranged. We appreciate you working with us, Ms. Bennett. We'll send you the census and police reports as soon as possible."

"_Thank you, Mr. Brazelton._"

The call ended and the editor of the New York Times slumped over in his chair, exhausted.

"Can you let me out now?"

"No, not yet," said Garrison, holding a gun to his head, "Give me the full details. How much of a payday did we get from your industry?"

Brazelton snarled. "You're not gonna get away with this."

"You are literally bound to a chair by zipties and a gun is pointed at the back of your head," repeated the commander, "How much money does she want donated?"

Brazelton hesitated a couple moments more before sighing in defeat.

"Five hundred grand."

"There," said Garrison, moving the gun away, "Was that so hard?"

"Where's my wife, Garrison?"

"Oh, Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, "Here we go."

"Why are you doing this to my family?! I have kids! I have a wife! Why me?! What does that piece of shit who bombed Forrestlake want from me?!"

"Nothing."

Brazelton froze.

"Why would he?" continued Garrison, "All you are is a thirty-year-old man with a bachelor's degree in journalism. Considering the stakes in power, you really are nothing special. Hell, your wife's the real breadwinner here. Ambassador to Lindisfarne is quite the difficult and prestigious role. The only reason you're even involved with the Times is because she had lunch with Nancy Pelosi every Friday afternoon.

"In the truest sense, you really are a useless human being. Of course Rock, the totalitarian all-powerful god who has all the testosterone and hissy fits in the world would want nothing to do with a lowlife scumbag like you."

Brazelton was silent as Garrison continued.

"You see, you asked the wrong question. 'What does Rock want with you?' That's the easiest question I would have given an answer to.

"The question should have been: '_What do we want with you?_'"

It was at that precise moment that Daniel Brazelton, who all things considered wasn't the brightest, realized what ARS was going to do.

"You're going to turn on him."

"Ooh," said Garrison, grabbing a Snickers bar from his pocket and taking a bite, "Now that's an interesting idea. Do explain."

"You've been assisting Rock for months now. To go behind his back to kidnap me and force me to hire the same girl who almost destroyed our company must have some motive that ARS would benefit."

Brazelton turned around, his head only moving enough to only see a glance of Garrison licking chocolate off of his fingers from the corner of his eye. "You're gonna rig the census. You're gonna say all of your soldiers are dead so that they can't be tracked."

Garrison looked up in momentary surprise before swallowing it down. "I'm impressed," he said, grabbing his pistol off of the table, "Maybe you're a bit of a brighter light bulb than we thought."

"But why?!" cried Brazelton incredulously, "Rock has nukes! He'll literally destroy you! Why are you betraying him when the stakes are this high."

"We're a society of traitors, Danny," said Garrison, cocking the pistol, "You think we'd swear an alliance and our full commitment to a motive that's not our own?"

Brazelton was silent again as Garrison walked to the door.

"There are two things you should know about the game we play, Daniel. We know how to play and who to play. And you just got a first-hand experience."

Garrison pointed the pistol at the back of the editor's head. With a **BANG**, the man slumped over, blood pouring out from the bullet wound.

By the time Garrison had snuck back out of the three-story mansion that was home to the Brazeltons, Daniel Brazelton was dead.

* * *

**DAY 13**

"Again."

With Sky's command, the soldier swung a hefty blow at the man's head, causing him to once again cough and spit out blood and teeth.

"One last chance, Mr. Warden," threatened Sky with no emotion in her voice, "Where are the blueprints?"

The warden struggled to find breath, slowly choking over his own blood. "_Goh...the factory...there's a f-f-false brick-...we hid it from the p-p-p-prisoner-rs."_

"Very good," said Sky, signaling for the soldiers to get their victim medical attention, "Thank you for your compliance, Mr. Mudclaw."

As the disgraced and bloodied warden was carried away, Sky's pager on her helmet headpiece went off.

"Sky here."

"_Mr. Garrison is calling you from the base in Chariot._"

"Thank you. Put him on."

The first thing Sky heard was loud, raucous cheering. "Sounds like a helluva party, Commander."

"I just let the soldiers know about the news. The fake census was eaten up like bacon."

"Well, don't break out the alcohol just yet. I'll need you sober for Stage 3."

"Of course. How many are you sending to Alaska?"

Sky walked into a cold room and flipped a switch. The lights came on and showed twenty-one unconscious hostages, heads covered in black cloth.

"Twenty-two. We're moving them to the plane now."

"Shall I ready the chambers?"

"Please," said the captain as black-masked soldiers grabbed the bodies from the chairs and carried them off to the hangar a couple hundred meters away, "Tell them RETCON-41 is a go. I expect the chambers to be ready for my arrival in four days time."

"Yes, captain," said Garrison, ending the call.

As the hostage room was cleared out, Sky couldn't resist a confident smile.

The moment Rock realized that ARS had betrayed him was the moment that he would fall. Sky was familiar with his psychology. He would not be prepared for 60% of his soldiers to drop out almost immediately.

When the Three and the Resistance attacked, Rock's reign would fall.

And then the stage was hers.

* * *

**I HAVE RETURNED!**

**Man, did I need that vacation. Not only did this chapter require a lot of thought, but I was also able to finalize my plans for the next couple chapters. It feels good to be organized. It feels even better to return with a chapter like this.**

**Regardless of the quality compared to others, this is most certainly my best fight scene. It took a lot of thought and rewriting, but from someone who is really, _really_ bad at fight scenes (See Arc 0), this was excellent by my standards.**

**And how about Garrison getting the spotlight? I was tasked rather abruptly with writing Jay's Wing's death scene, so I did my best to make one of my main villains an outright badass. I hope I didn't disappoint.**

**Finally, _plot points and developments galore!_ YES, there is another Moonstone. YES, Sky has been planning to betray Rock from the start. YES, the last name Brazelton was intentional. YES, Daniel Brazelton was correct in his predictions. NO, I am not planning to take the editor of the New York Times hostage.**

**If you're confused, you're not alone. ARS' plan is one of the most convoluted and complex machinations I have ever created.**

**And hopefully, it will not disappoint.**

**Best,**

**~Res**

**(P.S. This is officially the longest chapter I have ever written, clocking at just over _5,000_ words. This will not be happening again. It's way too much work for my tiny brain.)**


	29. Long Road Home

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

**LONG ROAD HOME**

* * *

"Can I help you?" said the woman at the hospital desk.

"I'm here to see Bone," said Inferno, who was wearing a black hoodie and beanie to obscure his face to the cameras and hide his distinctive hair.

"Seventh floor," said the woman almost automatically, "Be careful, though. He hasn't talked to any of the doctors since he was inducted."

"Thank you," said the flame-haired man, ignoring the final part of the sentence as he walked past the desk to the elevator. When the doors closed, he pressed the button for the seventh floor and pulled out his phone, sending a text.

The text was sent as the doors opened to the recovery , off-white lights shone through the room as Inferno made his way through the snaking hallways. In the days of fallout, BloodClan had taken over the facility, just a couple miles from Forrestlake City, and used it as a recovery station, kidnapping doctors and forcing them to heal their own at gunpoint.

As of today, Inferno, a member of ARS by association, was allowed in without a second glance.

Not for long.

He came to a door engraved with the number '27', knocked twice and came in without waiting for a response.

"Well, if it isn't the devil's accomplice himself."

Bone was _battered. _Bandages were patching him up, his foot was in a brace and suspended in air and he was hooked up to a ventilator, the plastic air dispenser strapped to his face like a facemask.

"Looks like you took a beating," said Inferno, taking off the hat and pulling up a chair, "Sky sent me to tell you that whatever subsection of ARS raided your lovely house wasn't on our orders. Commander got impatient waiting. She took care of him quickly."

Bone looked him in the eyes. He couldn't tell if he was lying. Inferno couldn't be sure if he believed him.

"Anyways," said Inferno, rummaging his hand into his pocket, "Sky sent you a get well soon present."

He grabbed a small glass vial full of clear liquid. Bone's eyes lit up as he saw the label.

"Got some morphine from a hospital raid a week back," said Inferno, tossing the vial in the air and catching it with the same hand, "Some of the commanders recommended we all overdose on it when we win this war, but Sky thought you might enjoy it more right here."

Bone nodded as Inferno grabbed a syringe, pulled a half a milligram out of it and stuck it into the IV, the clearless into the transfusion fluid that was being injected into his veins.

"I will admit," said Inferno, sitting back on his chair, "I'm a little...surprised. Though I suppose that comes naturally when Scourge's successor is double penetrated by two different parties."

Bone snarled, moving his arm to reach for the ventilator mask and causing the computers hooked to the IV to go crazy with beeps and alarms.

"No, don't get up."

Inferno reached over and pulled down the mask, letting Bone's snarls out into the room only lit by the evening sun shining through the clouds.

"I'm...done…" he snarled.

"Oh, come now, commander," said Inferno condescendingly, "Now is not the time for suicide and teenage angst."

"I'm done being beaten…" he growled, "I'm done being kicked around and treated like a little child. I'm done being kicked around by a teenage drunk in a metal tin can. I'm DONE with being cut out from the share I worked me _entire fucking life _to get! I AM DONE. BEING. SECOND. BEST."

"Inspiring," mocked Inferno.

"I want a Moonstone."

Inferno blinked.

"You want a Moonstone."

"_You heard what I said_," snarled the brute.

"If I may, commander," said Inferno, "You're pretty fucking delusional if you think you can get away with stealing away a Moonstone from Rock for his own benefit-"

"Don't lie to me," he growled, "You think I'm stupid. You think I don't know how ARS found the other two Moonstones."

Inferno's gaze hardened.

"Do you now?"

"You're dumber than we thought if you really thought that we would trust you at the drop of a hat," sneered Bone, "You think that all of your soldiers would stay loyal? We've had spies. We've had bribes. We've had plans to shut down your own. I knew that Sky had her own agenda, so for _months_ we've had her at her every hand. Your little plan? RETCON-41? We've known that you would betray us and try to take over Rock's machine. You can't overpower us. You can't win against us. And if you do not comply, you will have nothing. ARS. Will. Fall."

Inferno walked to the window to Bone's right.

"Now," threatened Bone, "Give me the Moonstone."

There was a tense silence. Bone was smirking widely. He had won.

"I had a feeling that you would grow sick of losing," said Inferno.

"Yes?"

"And so did Sky."

Bone froze.

That wasn't the answer he was expecting.

"In her months of working with you, she's developed a bit of a...psychological profile."

Inferno turned back to Bone with a smirk. "She knows how you _talks_, she knows how you _thinks._ And she knew that with your pitiful string of bad luck, it would take one loss to push you over the edge."

Wait.

"How did you know that I was infiltrated twice?" he snarled.

"Take another look at the vial by your side."

Bone reached over, muscles tensing as he moved, and grabbed the vial. His heart sank when he saw the label of morphine peeling off.

He ripped off the label and found another label, the _real_ label, once hidden behind the fake one.

"Tetradotoxin," said Inferno, walking slowly, luxuriously, around Bone's bed, "One of the most deadly poisons in the world. One of my favorites, too. Can be effective in any state of matter. The moment it gets inside your bloodstream, your muscles begin to tense. It becomes harder and harder to move until your lungs freeze up and you slowly..._painfully_...suffocate to death with no way to cry for help."

He had been played.

Played like a fucking fiddle.

"_You...fucking...you...won't…_"

"Oh hush," said Inferno, brushing a hand against his face, "Face it. There are some people that are just...another so-called bigshot unable to grow after being in another madman's shadow. We watched the tapes of you in the battle. That Adam and Eve line? Killer. But in the end it doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, you'll be known as a fool who played himself until his very...last...breath."

Inferno walked to the door.

"Goodbye, Bone," he said sweetly, "Let's hope you didn't put us in your will."

He shut the door quietly, savoring the stuttered rattles of Bone trying harder and harder to move on his bed, and walked back to the elevator. Disguise on, took the elevator down to the lobby and walked right out without a second glance.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he had memorized.

"Sky."

"Is it done?"

"Yes," said the psychopath, "Get me a cigar. I'll be back at Base One in ten minutes."

* * *

**Day 18**

On the night of Day 18, Dusty and Sunfield arrived at the edge of Riven.

Both boys were dirty, hungry and tired. They ate days apart from the last meal as they crossed the island and slept on the hard dirt,, so they were _very_ relieved when they saw that they were close.

Now, it was time for the final stretch.

They broke down camp for the final time, for better or for worse, and snuck into the city limits. They walked the incinerated city streets, staying close and ducking into alleys when they saw enemies in cars driving by.

"You're tense," said Dusty after ducking into an alley for the third time.

"Oh, really?" mock-gasped Sunfield quietly, "We're tired and starving, traversing the streets of a blown-up town with ARS and BloodClan at every intersection and I'm tense?! How could you tell?"

"You've been holding my hand for the past twenty minutes."

Dusty raised his arm to show that they had indeed been holding hands.

"Um…" said Sunfield, blushing, "You..were...fine with it?"

"Just…" muttered Dusty, flustered, "Stay close."

"I _was_ staying close-"

"_You know what I mean_," snapped Dusty, grabbing a pistol and loading it, "Alright, coast is clear."

They took off, sprinting a block until the roar of a Ford F-150 around the corner forced them into the next alley.

"This won't work," snarled Dusty, "They're too close to each other. We'll get snuffed out by a flashlight at this rate."

For the first time, he looked to Sunfield with pleading eyes. "Any ideas?"

After suppressing the momentary shock of Dusty asking him for advice, he glanced around. It was dark outside. Dusty could see nothing of use.

"Give me the gun," said Sunfield.

Dusty blinked. "What?"

"There's a belt of grenades hanging over the side of a flatbed truck twenty meters away. I can hit one of them and the grenades will set off a chain of explosions that should get the surrounding trucks off-patrol. From there we can make the final sprint to Warehouse 29 and get into the Court."

Dusty was dumbstruck for a moment.

"Wow," he said after a couple seconds, "I dunno about your flirting, but you are definitely a soldier."

"Heh," smirked Sunfield, "Lotsa people would disagree."

Then he processed what he said.

"Did you say _flirting_?"

"Take the gun."

Sunfield took the pistol, cocked it and aimed. Dusty was impressed again at how calmly and directly he held the gun.

His high fell off when he heard a roaring and headlights coming from three blocks away.

"Incoming," said Dusty, tensing up.

Sunfield held still.

"If you're gonna shoot, do it now!"

He didn't move. The truck was pulling closer,

"Sunfield!"

He held still.

Any second, the truck would see them and they would be dead without a second thought.

"SUNFIELD!"

He fired.

_**BOOM!**_

Dusty pulled Sunfield to the ground just as the grenade belt on the truck exploded, shrapnel and fire flying everywhere and causing the truck passing them to swerve. Screaming and shouting could be heard from the blast location as the disruption worked it's wonders.

Dusty was on hands and knees over Sunfield, who was lying on his back.

The both laughed.

"That was _awesome!_" said Dusty, helping his friend up to his feet, "How did you hit that shot?"

"I aimed. You _have _fired a gun before, right?"

"Let's go. We don't have much time," said Dusty, leading the way.

"Oh _now_ you say it."

The two sprinted down the sidewalk as the soldier worked to put out the fire and deal to the casualties. They crossed streets, cut through alleyways, and after five straight minutes in full sprint, they made it to Warehouse 29 without getting caught.

Dusty looked at Sunfield, who gave the brick and mortar a kiss. "I never thought how much I'd miss this place."

Dusty smiled, but swallowed the celebration back for another time. "We have to move," he said, grabbing his gun, "We don't know if BloodClan took over the top floor or are controlling the passage down."

Sunfield nodded, then Dusty kicked the boarded-up door down with a front kick. The rotting wood clattered onto the floor, revealing a dark and desolate Marketplace. Making sure Sunfield was close, he started to walk the perimeter with his gun prepared to fire at anything resembling a human that moved or shifted.

Yet after a full sweep of the warehouse, Dusty couldn't find anything. Sunfield had told him that Warehouse 29 was the entrance to the throne room and other private sectors of the Court, so...where was it?

"Isn't there supposed to be a door or something?" said Dusty after a full walk of the perimeter.

"Well, a door would be too easy to find for BloodClan. Even then they could tank through any initial traps we laid if they knew where to go. So I have a feeling…"

Sunfield walked along the wall, pressing his hand every five bricks until…

There was a loud click as a latch of a false wall opened and creaked open, revealing a lantern-lit, ominous stone hallway.

"Jeez," said Dusty with a smirk, "You're getting _everything _right today."

"Well, I do live here."

"That helps."

"Indeed," said a grinning Sunfield as he gestured dramatically towards the doorway.

Dusty stepped through the secret door and was met which a blast of chilly air, much more filtered than the humid, fallout-induced air they had been breathing. He nodded to Sunfield, who pulled the door shut behind them and followed his friend down the concrete hallway.

The silence was unnerving. Their footsteps echoed in the long, unsettling hallway. About a hundred feet in, Dusty found Sunfield's hand gravitating to his own, which he accepted without a second thought.

After about three minutes of walking in shared silence, they arrived at a hallway lined with doors.

"I think the coast is clear."

"HALT!"

Dusty whipped out his gun as the lights went dark. He felt Sunfield immediately get behind him as bright blue strips of light shone brightly a good twenty feet ahead of him.

"WHO DARES TEST THE GOD-FEARED POWER OF JAYWHISKER THE ALMIGHTY?!"

Dusty's arms dropped to his sides in shock.

"J-Jay?"

"WAIT A MINUTE! HOW DO I GET THIS VOICE CHANGER OFF?!"

"Jay!" said Dusty, now grinning widely, "It's me! Dusty!"

Silence. With a CLICK, the lights turned back on to show Jaywhisker armed with his gauntlets.

His eyes were wide with shock.

"D-Dusty?"

"Yeah...hi."

The two stood a distance apart before Jaywhisker ran forward and threw him into a huge hug.

"I'm sorry…" he rasped, "I shouldn't have left you…"

"It's okay…" said Dusty, relief relaxing his body for the first time in weeks, "I'm here."

"OH MY GOD!"

"IT'S DUSTY!"

As if on cue, the resistance sprinted from the side rooms and mobbed the poor teenager, embracing him in a huge group hug. Ashtooth, Daffodil, Mallowleaf, Seashell, even Coalstrike were all there, squeezing the very life out of him in their own arms.

"Ok...guys...I can't breathe…" he said after about a minute of hugging, to which they finally ended the hug.

"We thought you were dead!" said Mallowleaf, a shocked grin on her face, "Jaywhisker said he dropped you off two miles form the mountain! How did you get back?"

Dusty sighed, catching his breath. "I walked. Went to Skyfair, walked some lonely roads and made my way back to the place where I knew you'd be."

He looked back at the golden-haired boy behind him.

"And I had a friend who stayed by my side on the long road home."

Sunfield scoffed in embarrassment, shrinking under the presence of the Resistance with a sheepish grin. "I...think we've met before, but in case we haven't, hi. I'm Sunfield."

"How romantic," said Jaywhisker, rolling his eyes and grinning.

Seashell sent a flying elbow into his gut, promptly knocking the wind right out of him.

"Well, we've been busy," said Ashtooth, a proud smile on his face, "And we're excited to have you back from the team. But from the looks of it, you look like you haven't slept on something other than the floor for two and a half weeks."

"Thank you, sir," said Sunfield, walking up to stand at Dusty's side.

"Please," said Ashtooth, "Call me Ash."

"_You also ne-need a shower,"_ whined Jaywhisker between coughs, "_I can smell your BO and lovejuice from here!"_

"Ignore him," said Dusty, "He can be a bit...chaotic."

Sunfield was grinning. "I think we'll get along just fine."

Thirty minutes and one shower later, Dusty and Sunfield were on opposite sides of a queen-sized bed that Coalstrike and Seashell usually slept on. It was probably a donation by the latter without the former's consent, but they didn't matter. They were both washed, in clean clothes and lying on a mediocre mattress that felt like heaven.

"We're home," said Dusty as they both stared at the ceiling.

"We are."

"Didn't think we'd make it."

"Neither did I."

"I thought you were the optimist."

"I spent all I had trying to have you keep your sanity."

"Heh."

The two sat in silence for a while longer.

"Did you mean it?" asked the golden-haired boy.

"What?"

"Are we friends?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"Well, we've been going at each other's throats since day one," said Sunfield, turning to the other boy, "And, I mean, we said a lot of shit both of us are going to regret. Maybe we already do."

"_SHUT UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"_

"Yeah," said Dusty apologetically, "I know _I_ do."

"All is forgiven," said Sunfield, smiling up at the ceiling again."

The two were about to fall asleep, but Dusty still had one more thing on his mind.

"Wanna make it official?"

"What?"

"Our friendship."

"Please don't have this be some weird sex ritual thing."

"Thank you, Jaywhisker."

Dusty held out his hand.

"Friends?"

With barely any hesitation, Sunfield grabbed his hand and shook it.

"Friends."

* * *

**FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC! YAAAAAAY!**

**So hi hello. It's been a bit since I've updated. Jesus gave me a side quest to unleash chaos on a forum bigger than the Holy Island, so that was fun.**

**Again, I won't be posting much until Jay finishes The New Era, or at least the final battle. This might be the final chapter I post for a couple of weeks, keep that in mind.**

**In the meantime, a word from our sponsor.**

_**Have you enjoyed the collaboration between Jay and I? Well, we've DONE IT AGAIN! After teaming up with FIVE new authors of the FallenClan forum, we have created SHIMMERWIND'S RISE, the most ambitious reimagining of Starkit's Prophecy you'll EVER see! My chapter's next, so come on down and give it a read!**_

**Ok I'm done.**

**Stay safe, y'all, and keep on dreaming.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	30. Grasping Memories

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

**GRASPING MEMORIES**

* * *

**(Continues from Chapter 56 of Warriors: The New Era)**

Everything was a blur.

The gunfire rattling in his brain, the screams of pain, Dusty could hear it all as he sprinted from the mountain, holding Sunfield close to his chest.

Tears burned his eyes and his chest heaved with fatigue. He had been running for almost ten minutes, trying to get somewhere where his friend's neck wound could be treated.

The golden-haired boy looked really out of it, eyes faded and blinking less and less. Dusty could feel his staggering breath grow weak.

"Stay with me…" he wheezed, "I'm getting you help."

"Dusty…"

"_Shut up!_" the boy half-sobbed, "Just...don't! I'm gonna get you help."

"Dusty…" said Sunfield, his voice either gentle or weak, "Please...put me down…"

The poor boy couldn't handle this.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, SUNNY! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Sunfield's eyes were dripping with tears, yet his eyes glimmered with an ominous breed of acceptance. As if he knew that his death was coming, and was now just going through the funeral plans in his head.

Dusty was nigh delirious. Blood pounded in his skull as he held his fragile load in his arms, his lungs were burning and his eyes were so bloodshot some would think he was high. He stumbled around trees and over roots as the forest grew denser and denser.

Finally, it seemed the forest wanted the teenager to stop running from fate. After another two minutes in full sprint, Dusty mistimed his jump and twisted his ankle, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

"SHIT!" cussed Dusty, reaching for his ankle as Sunfield rolled to his back, the blood from his neck staining the grass below. The only thing holding him up was the slight rise and fall of his chest.

In the midst of his mess, he reached for his comm. "ASH! COALSTRIKE! WE HAVE A MAN DOWN! WE NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION! SEND IVYPOOL! SEND AN AMBULANCE! SEND ANYONE! PLEASE!"

Dusty put the mic to his ear.

Static.

They were out of range.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" roared the brown-haired boy in rage, smashing his comm against the tree in one swing, "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!"

Sunfield had dragged himself to the nearest tree, propping himself up to a sitting position. Blood dripped from the gash on his neck, coating it in a grisly shade of crimson with a flow only beaten by the tears in his eyes.

"Dusty…" said the golden-haired boy shakily.

"No! Shut up!" he snapped, looking around before quickly ripping his shirt off and wrapping it around his neck. Despite the cloth being army camo, a dark stain quickly soaked through, deeming the bandage useless.

The golden-haired boy glanced at his shirtless friend and smirked. "Well," he rasped, "Now...I see why Axis...had the hots for you…"

"Shut up…" said Dusty, his voice shaking violently, "Just...shut up…"

Sunfield could only watch as he completely broke. The soldier who he had spent weeks travelling the island with dissolving into a sobbing, shaking mess.

It broke his heart.

"_I should have done something…_" cried Dusty, "_I could have done something...You don't...I don't want you to die...Sunny, I don't want you to die…"_

Sunfield's grief was quiet, small, yet violent sobs expelling tears as his dimming gaze was cast upon the war-riddled mountain. He felt the throb of his open neck as the life slowly dripped out of him as his friend tried to hold on to the very last friend he had.

He was supposed to be Dusty's shoulder to cry on. He was supposed to be the friend he needed.

And here he was. He had let him down. They both knew it.

On ticked the seconds. Dusty was curled into a sobbing ball, holding his twisted foot as Sunfield slowly ran out of tears to cry.

"Dusty…"

Dusty just looked and reached over to give him a half-assed hug, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face into the golden boy's hip.

"Dusty…" repeated the dying boy.

After another thirty seconds of tears, the soldier looked up at his friend.

"In...my pocket…" he said quietly, "There's...an mp3 player…"

"Sunny," whimpered Dusty, "This i-isn't the time…"

"Please…Dusty…"

With a whimper, he opened the pockets and rummaged through them, his fingers finally grasping a small black player. The screen was chipped and the buttons were greasy with the user's fingerprints, but Dusty could see the screen light up as he pressed the on button and with a shaking hand, handed it over to Sunfield.

Sunfield didn't take his eyes off of Dusty as he held down the volume button and pressed shuffle.

Despite his bleeding heart, he almost laughed as he heard the opening notes of "Tiny Dancer" from the player.

"Y-You're dying and y-you s-still want to listen t-to Elton John…" the soldier muttered.

Sunfield looked at Dusty and gave a weak, yet resounding smile.

"Whatever it takes...to make...you happy…"

Dusty finally looked up and stared the boy in the eyes for the first time.

"Sunfield...y-you're all I have...without you-"

"I know," said the boy, his face falling, "I'm sorry...I failed you…"

As Elton sang about Jesus freaking out in the streets in the background, Dusty slowly shifted until he sat next to him, his heartbroken gaze never leaving him. They were silent, the only music being the glamorous rock star fighting to drown out the distant sounds of war.

Both could feel their time together tick, tick, ticking away, the blood slowly draining the weight out of the golden boy's head.

"When...did I get...as tall as you...?" he half-slurred.

"Have you?" said Dusty, dimly lighting up at the change of topic and tone.

Sunfield shrugged, wincing at the throbbing in his neck. "Well...it's definitely...the first time we've seen...eye to eye. Never did the entire...way back…"

The boy blinked.

"Are you seriously giving a life lesson to me on your deathbed?"

He got a witty smirk back.

And Dusty suddenly found himself chuckling.

"Why you?" he said, wiping away some tears from his eyes, "Of all the people this war could take, why did it have to be the one the world needs most…?"

"You flatter me."

"No, I'm serious," said Dusty, looking over to him, "You...Your optimism...The way you can smile through anything...The world needs more people like you...You shouldn't have been the one...It should've been me...A useless bastard who can't do anything right...I can't fight...I can't save my friends…"

Dusty curled up into a ball again, starting to cry.

And even with his neck seizing up, Sunfield leaned over and hugged him just as Elton hit the chorus.

Dusty hugged back, sobbing into his shoulder.

And this time, he wouldn't let go.

"I'm sorry," whimpered the golden boy, "I...I should have been more careful...I should have fought harder for you...I don't want...to leave you…"

Dusty gently pressed his hand on the back of his head, stroking his fingers through his dirty blonde hair as Sunfield weakly wept with him.

The luxurious piano wrapped around them as they swayed with the soft rhythm of the drums.

"Dusty…?"

"Sunny…?"

"What...do you want me...to say to him…?"

Dusty almost broke there, but he kept his head rested against him.

"That I miss him. That I hope he's at peace...wherever he is…"

"I…"

The silence told Dusty all he needed.

Gently, he rested the boy down onto his back. His breaths were weaker than before, and his eyes glimmered with fading affection and thankfulness.

He took his hand, and he squeezed back all he could.

Dusty watched as Sunfield worked himself into one last smile.

Moments later, his grip on the soldier's hand slackened and his chest fell still.

Dusty felt heavy. Heavy with intense emotion like never before. He had neither the energy nor the power to wail his grief to the world.

Not when Elton John was still singing.

With a dull, grieving smile, Dusty slowly closed Sunfield's eyes.

"Rest easy, sunshine."

The song slowly faded out. Reaching over, the boy waited until the song had one second left, pressed pause and nestled it gently into Sunfield's pocket. With one last tearful glance, he turned away and towards the mountain.

And then he was blinded.

A white light filled all of existence, causing the soldier to throw his arm in front of his eyes as a bright explosion covered the mountain.

He slowly removed his light deterrent as he saw a massive mushroom cloud, sending piece after piece of shrapnel and debris high into the air. Raw heat blasted his skin as the temperature rose by a good forty degrees, causing him to cringe up as his body was cooked.

Before he could pick himself up, a shockwave blasted him onto his back. He felt his left eardrum explode painfully as blood splattered from the useless ear and his back throbbed with pain.

Hand covering his impairment, Dusty slowly turned around and looked at the marvelous destruction, slowly coming to an epiphany.

The bomb's radius was smaller than it should have been.

He should have been dead the moment it went off.

That could only mean one thing.

They had won.

And even though he knew he should be celebrating, he felt his heart throb all over again.

If Sunfield had hung on just a few moments longer, he would have seen their victory.

Now he would never know that they had avenged his death.

For a while, Dusty stared blankly at the fiery sky, chest heaving, lungs burning, ears ringing at a deafening volume…

And the world seemed to fade, the pain in his body drifting away as a white blanket brought him to a future that he would never really know.

* * *

**December 17th, 2024**

**11 days after Chapter 58 of Warriors: The New Era**

* * *

...

...

...

"Sir?"

He could pick out a voice amidst the blinding sound.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

Somewhere nearby, somewhere beckoning to a place he would never get to know.

"Sir!"

Dusty gasped awake, panting, hyperventilating as he placed a hand on his heart and tried to breathe.

"Are you alright?" The boy turned to see a woman, dressed in a white and blue outfit and wearing a stout white cap with an airline insignia.

Dusty looked around. He was surrounded by rows and rows of blue-threaded seats. In the background, he could hear a faint whirring.

Dusty blinked, trying to calm his heart.

"Where...Where am I?" he breathed.

"You're at Forrestlake, sir," said the woman, who looked appropriately unnerved, "We've arrived from Los Angeles."

Wait.

**WHAT?!**

Now Dusty was even more confused.

"I'm...on a plane?"

The flight attendant just looked worried. "Would you...like me to call a medic?"

Okay, he needed to get out of here.

"No…" he lied, "Sorry, long day."

She didn't exactly believe him, but she stepped aside, giving him the benefit of the doubt and room to slowly open the overhead, where he saw a black suitcase waiting for him.

As he slowly pulled up the handle and walked down the 19 rows of seats in front of him, things began to dawn on him.

He was on a plane for LA to Forrestlake.

But Forrestlake had been nuked.

That meant that either he had been in a coma or something had happened that he didn't know about.

He walked fast. The wheels on the bag rolled loudly as he ran out of the tunnel and into the perfectly glitzy and flashy concourse of Forrestlake, bustling with tourists and gleaming with green decorations and red...ornaments?

Dusty felt sick. The world seemed to rock him back and forth, and he stumbled to one of the many seats in front of the window live with planes, trucks and a non-nuked city plastered on the horizon.

Nothing made sense.

He was sitting in a terminal on an island that had been nuked.

Was he dead?

Was this heaven?

Was this hell?

Dusty was pale as a security guard, having been called over by the staff.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, just staring outside blankly.

"_Sir?_"

The voice to the teenager was weak as the guard pat him on the side of the neck.

"Can you hear me?"

In response, Dusty threw up, his regurgitation sickeningly splashing on the concourse carpet. Passing travellers jumped away in disgust, though some's gaze turned to unseen sympathy for airsickness.

As the guard called for medical attention, he lost his grip on his sanity within what he could see, and slumped over, unconscious once more.

* * *

"...and all tests came back negative. Seems to be regular airsickness."

"Thank you, Doctor. May I speak to him now?" said an English accent.

The door to the clinic's office opened. Dusty, who had been perpetually dozing since he was revived at the airport hospital, blearily looked up.

At the doorway was a handsome, yet old man. He had balding gray hair, a slowly wrinkling face, but was decked out in flashy clothes, like a shiny jacket fresh out of a disco, baggy khaki pants and a pride wristband on his wrist.

Dusty felt something shift in the back of his brain, as if he should recognize this man.

The man waited until the doctor left the room before shaking his head in the most condescending manner Dusty had ever seen.

"Alright Dusty," he muttered, "What the hell did they inject into you in LA?"

Dusty blinked.

This man _knew_ him?!

"Was it crack? Speed? Steroids the NFL hates?" he said, leaning against the wall across from him. "C'mon, just spill so that I can think of an alibi when the news sees your arse stumbling drunk on Mulholland Drive."

Dusty just stared awkwardly.

"W-Who are you again?"

The man threw up his arms and scoffed. "Goddamnit man! We don't have to play this game. It's not like we've been probed yet!"

The boy was staring at the ground, still trying to process the world speeding around him at 90 miles an hour. "I'm sorry! It's just...the airsickness. It's gotten to my head."

The man sighed, sitting next to him and patting him on the shoulder, which unnerved Dusty further.

"Elliot Hennessey Gray. That name ring a bell?"

Dusty thought a minute. He swore he could feel the mention tickle something in the back of his brain.

"Elliot Gray, Elliot Gray, Elliot Gray…" he muttered to himself.

This man obviously had some distinctive traits. So where would he remember him…?

Something popped in his head.

"_If you act paranoid, they'll know you suspect them. If you play along and let them lower their guard, you can react with much more command over them."_

Well, it wasn't much, but it was something. He didn't even remember when he was told that nugget of info.

But he played along.

"Oh!" he said, faking an epiphany, "You're the guy! From the...thing…"

Elliot Gray bit his lip. " Okay, close enough. Come on, the limo's waiting outside."

_Limo._

Something clicked.

_Top pocket on the suitcase. Give him the envelope._

Dusty wasn't even questioning himself.

"Do you have my suitcase?"

"Again, the limo," said Elliot, getting up and gesturing for him to do the same, "You can give it to Kale when we get to your house."

Dusty was barely listening as he was checked out of the clinic and led out into baggage claim. As the tourists clearly not concerned of a nuclear fallout flocked around the carousels to grab their baggage, the boy had his eyes closed, trying to grasp something, _anything_ that would help him make sense of why everything was erased.

And also why the temperature was so low, he saw his breath as he left.

Elliot led him across the departure lanes, keeping a precariously close yet non-threatening eye on him as they walked, and into the parking garage. He went to the elevator where they entered and pressed a button to the 17th floor.

As the elevator slinked up the several stories, Elliot glanced at Dusty.

"You know, if you were molested and you're too embarrassed to talk about it, you should talk to me about it."

Dusty didn't know whether he felt more repulsed at the poor sentence structure or terrified that something bad _did_ happen and he had no idea. He wrapped it all up in an uncomfortable glance at the older man that made it clear he wasn't up for talking about anything that wasn't an explanation about why they were not walking through a nuclear wasteland.

Finally, the silky voice greeted them to the seventeenth floor, and the pair got out, where Dusty saw a sleek, black limo waiting for him. He would have done a double take, but he had grown numb to the surprise that he was alive.

"Hop in," said Elliot, getting into the passenger seat, "And whatever backseat shenanigans you boys decide to do, just don't let me hear it."

Dusty nodded, trying to hide the grimace of uncomfortability he had as he slipped into the car.

He had almost settled into his seat before he noticed he wasn't alone.

"Jay?"

Jaywhisker looked up from his laptop. "Hi."

"What...what are you doing here?"

He blinked in confusion. "You...told me to join you on the way back?"

Dusty blinked. "I did?"

Unlike the old man in the front seat, Jaywhisker immediately knew something was up. "You don't remember?"

Dusty caved incredibly fast.

"Look, I don't know what the _fuck_ is going on!" he hissed, "I was in the forest when the bomb went off, next thing I know I wake up on a plane from _Los Angeles_ on an airport that is _not destroyed_ and where _everyone_ is okay and not BloodClan or ARS and I meet this crazy old man whose somewhere in the gray area between a gay rights activist, a pedophile and a fucking grandpa, and now I'm in a limo. So if you could tell me _what_ the hell is happening and why the air has dropped forty degrees in temperature, that would be just fine with me!"

Jaywhisker blinked at him, and Dusty feared that he had vented to someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he relaxed, shutting his laptop and smiling in obvious relief, which made Dusty even more confused.

"Thank God," he muttered, "I thought that you were never gonna get back here."

"What do you mean?"

Jay leaned forward and looked Dusty in the eyes.

"The timeline was reset."

Dusty's jaw slackened.

"Reset?"

"Yep."

"Like, _reset_ reset?"

"Yeah."

"So…"

"The memories from the timeline, likely from contact from the Moonstone, have been coming back at a staggered pace. Which is why it's been about two months since the battle and why you don't remember anything clearly from then to now-"

"Stop stop stop stop stop."

Dusty was in so much disbelief, he was smiling.

"So...what you're saying is…"

Jaywhisker grinned.

"We won."

Dusty felt his heart soar.

They had won.

Dusty launched forward and wrapped Jaywhisker, which he returned tightly after a hiss of surprise. After a couple moments of embrace, made unsteady by the turning of the limousine, Dusty broke away, near tears.

"I can't believe it…" he said, "After the bomb went off, I thought…"

Jaywhisker nodded. "There's a lot to go over. For now, check your texts. Your memories should start flooding back in from there."

Dusty nodded, his hands shaking as he unlocked his phone and sifted through his contacts. Foxleap, Jaywhisker, Coalstrike, Ashtooth, Daffodil, Seashell…

Wait.

He scrolled up again.

Daffodil.

He blinked, thinking that it was an old contact and ready to heave a sigh of depression before checking for the last text.

A text about picking him up from school.

December 3rd.

He checked the date.

December 17th.

And yet he had seen her get shot in the head on the day of the reset.

"Jay?"

He looked up and glanced at the text from Daffodil.

"What about it?"

"She's supposed to be dead."

Jaywhisker blinked, as if he wished he didn't figure this out.

"One of the side effects of the reset," he said tentatively, "Is that some of the deaths were undone. We don't know if _everyone_ got reset, but…"

Dusty felt his heart beat faster. "So who _did _get reset?"

Jaywhisker leaned back in his seat.

And let Dusty finish the question in silence.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the limo pulled across from the mansion, completely intact to Dusty's numbed surprise.

He was busy running across the street, Jaywhisker stumbling behind him with his laptop nestled into his right arm.

He burst through the door, spooking the non-Resistance lingered around the house, and cast his wild eyes around those who were supposed to be dead.

Mallowleaf.

Seashell.

Daffodil.

Berrynose.

Breezepelt.

As Jaywhisker shouldered the burden of why he was so white in the face and gave an awkward introduction to Elliot Gray, Dusty ran up the stairs to his room.

He hesitated, saying one last prayer to God before opening the door.

"Oh hey," said the handsome, brown-haired boy on the other side of the door, "You're back."

Dusty's heart flew to the moon.

It was Axis.

"Geez, you alright?" he said, getting to his feet with a worried glint in his eyes, "You look white in the face-"

He was cut off by Dusty running forward and kissing him.

It was the hardest, most possessive move he had ever made. To Axis, this would seem like loneliness finally getting balanced out or a release of stress from a week in Los Angeles.

To Dusty, this meant so much more. So much that, no matter how much he loved him, Axis would never understand.

"Wow," chuckled the boy as Dusty slipped his hands under his shirt to disrobe him, "Rough week, huh?"

Dusty just chuckled.

"You have no idea."

As the young couple stumbled to the bed in the back corner, in an intense lip lock, Jaywhisker peeked in through the cracked door.

"_Welcome back, Dusty…_" he said under his breath with a smile before shutting the door and wishing everlasting mercy on the unfortunate soul who might accidentally open it.

As Foxleap poured drinks to celebrate, Jaywhisker walked back to his own project. His personal favorite which had grown on him.

After a couple knocks, an eight-year-old boy covered in dirt, grime and a cute little smile answered the door.

"Hi Jay!" he said chirpily.

"Hey, Russ," said Jay with an uncharacteristically big grin.

"I need some help with the car I'm making Mole and Cherry," he said, opening the door for his friend to come inside, "I was wondering if you could help with the soldering and the programming."

Jaywhisker responded by grabbing some work goggles from his pocket, and after a glance at the Bluejay Mk. 7 in the corner of Russ' room, put them on.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

**I know I said this is the end.**

**But there's one more thing I have to do.**

**And then comes the future.**

**If you're still here, after all this time...**

**Thank you.**

**Best,**

**~Res**


	31. Christmas

**WARRIORS HIGH**

**ISLAND OF THE LOST**

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

**CHRISTMAS**

* * *

It was four in the morning.

In the dead of night, Dusty and Axis were sitting at a table in dim candlelight. The candle was nearly burned out, but it lit the room enough so they could see that pair of cards in their hands.

Reaching over to the shuffled pile next to them, Dusty drew the top card, set it aside without looking at it and flipped the second card next to the five, seven and eight and king.

"King of diamonds," he said.

"Go fish," was Axis' response.

Dusty cocked an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Nothing," said Axis, glancing at his cards for a moment before throwing in a green chip. "25."

Dusty rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of blues. "70."

Axis' eyes widened for a moment before he counted the five-dollar chips he needed and throwing them into the pot.

"Straight," said Dusty, throwing down his six and nine and reaching over to pull in the pot.

"Woah woah woah-"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Don't you...wanna see my cards?" asked Axis, knowing full well he had lost.

"That close to a straight?"

Axis sighed, throwing down his six and two.

"You doing alright? You usually have a better poker face," said Dusty as he gathered the cards together to shuffle. Axis was staring at the table to the couple's left, particularly at the phone, which had been silent for the seven hours they had left it there.

"What if it's on silent?" he mumbled, getting up to check before Dusty grabbed his arm.

"I know that you're stressed out about it. But it's not like they're just gonna ding dong ditch you. I talked to their folks in LA and they said _explicitly_ that you will have a yes or no answer by today."

"I'm just saying," said Axis, sitting back down and cracking his knuckles, "It could have been any other day than Christmas. It just had to be the day where the house is gonna be the most crowded. What if the kids walk in on us and ask why there are two dudes making out-"

"That's not what you're worried about and you know it."

Dusty sighed, setting down the cards and walking over until he was facing Axis and resting a hand on his cheek. You're worried about them saying no. And I get it. But there's no risk-"

"There _is_ a risk!" huffed Axis whilst melting into the touch, "I've worked so hard for this! And if I walk out empty handed, I feel like I'll fail...everyone. I can't keep living off of your family's money!"

Dusty let him finish before he leaned in to kiss him.

"Don't worry," he soothed, "If they don't take you, someone else will. You have a beautiful voice, Kale. Never forget that."

Axis blushed. "Please stop calling me that."

"Kale? I like it."

"Yeah, it's just…I don't like using my real name."

"You'd rather have people calling you a supporter of Nazism?"

"Shut up…"

They kissed again, the grip between them tender and affectionate. It was only for a couple moments before they broke away.

"I'm going to the bathroom," said Dusty, "Don't touch your phone."

Axis pantomimed putting cuffs on himself as the boy walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He leaned over the sink, staring down at the porcelain for a while before looking up at his reflection.

He felt older than 17. Years older.

It had barely been a week since he had woken up on a plane to LA. It seemed that the world had completely erased everything that he had seen before then...the bombs, the fallout, the war…

The cost…

Even though everyone in the mansion, some that were long dead, were brought back, it seemed hundreds of thousands of others were not as fortunate. All the news could talk about was the police getting so many missing people reports that the number went down for a couple hours. Men, women and children of all race, status and worth, gone with the reset. Some seemed to just walk out of their homes in the middle of the night with no explanation.

At first, Dusty thought that everything would be back to normal.

But something..._someone_ was missing.

Dusty had the temptation to dig out his phone and pray for something to change in the last eight days. But by now, he knew it was hopeless.

Wherever Sunfield was, it was not here.

Jaywhisker had been working his ass off to try and track him down, but whatever he tried, he seemed to be wiped clean. No tracking, no location, nothing. He was in the dark.

His phone number now belonged to a nursing home. The room he had bunked in while the Resistance was holed up in the Cour de Miracles was a storage closet.

And the guilt that Dusty felt in his chest still hung like a deadweight.

Everything, every bad thing that he had said, every time he pushed him away and thought of him as a nuisance overpowered the good memories. The weeks they spent together, holed up in the back corners of every dark place on the island, and the bond that the two had formed...what was once a clueless agent just aspiring to be like the people he answered to was now someone Dusty was grieving like a lost brother.

And the sad thing was he couldn't truly confide in anyone about it. Everyone was reunited, Breezepelt with his betrothed, Berrynose with Honeyfern, Poppyfrost with her children, Jaywhisker with Russ, so why would they need to offer support to someone if they couldn't truly empathize. They all got lucky. He did not.

Then he looked out at the door where Axis was.

He loved him. No doubt about it. To be in this kind of relationship, where love was reciprocated this passionately, where they would stay up all night together playing poker to wait for a phone call from a music industry on whether Axis would be signed to a professional music label. He was the luckiest man in the world.

But while nothing would ever replace Axis, Sunfield's smile and relentless (and occasionally irritating) optimism had burrowed a special place in his heart. And he felt that hole like a bullet wound.

He would never feel the same without him.

Sighing heavily, he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out a small orange prescription bottle. Jaywhisker had developed a prescription that, in his jargon, "psycho-stimulated the most sensitive part of the hippocampus." Supposedly, it slowed the nerves of the part of the brain that was most affected by the trauma of the past timeline, allowing the prescribed to recompose the memories they inhibited from the previous set of events. And while Dusty was squirmy about medication, it seemed to have been working.

He popped a pill and swallowed it, pulling out a hidden notebook behind some large containers of acetaminophen. Inside was scribbled notes that Jaywhisker had given him about everything that had gone on in the time he had forgotten. In exchange for his scribbly handwriting, he had rather in-depth notes on what he needed to know to not make it looked like he had gone insane.

Three days after the reset, Axis had been contacted by Elliot Gray, a music agent part of an upstart company under his own name. He said that the gist of his company was a advocation for equal rights and protection of LGBTQ+ members from discrimination, sexual harassment and equal pay. After going to great lengths about how this wasn't fishing for gay people or some part of a creep show cult, Axis had signed with a batch of various outstanding instrumentalists that varied from straight and occasionally Caucasian. After spending some time with Gray to make sure he was legit, Dusty had gone to Los Angeles with a contract proposal to one of the big name production companies, hoping for a temporary merger.

Now that Dusty thought of it, it was quite obvious how much of a showpiece they were gonna be for public favor to get their hands on some extra tax dollars.

Regardless, Axis had a legitimate chance to get a big break. They were waiting on a phone call from LA where they would either say he's in or out. Dusty was happy for him. This opportunity alone was what he deserved.

It was a good distraction from his grief, Axis being alive.

He swished some water in his mouth, swallowed and flushed the toilet, using the noise to hide the stimulant and the notebook away in the cabinet.

He walked out to Axis holding his phone and staring at the black screen. Sighing, he snatched it and tossed it to the table in the corner.

"What did I say about your phone?" he said, taking a seat.

"I wasn't on Tinder, if that's what you're wondering."

The remark caused Dusty to chuckle and lose his train of thought.

"Should I be _worried_ about that?"

"No," said Axis with a cheeky grin and a shrug, "It was a factual statement that seemed relevant to this conversation."

"Just deal," he said, handing the deck over and throwing in a chip for ante.

"Sure thing," said Axis, dishing out the hands and setting the deck onto the table.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzt._

The couple froze for a moment, as if processing the sound as real.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzt._

Dusty whipped out his phone and felt a soaring sensation in his chest when he found nothing.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzt._

The moment Dusty nodded, Axis leaped out of his seat, causing the table to tip and the cards and chips to fall onto Dusty's lap, and grabbed his ringing phone.

"Hello?" he said breathlessly.

"_Am I speaking to Mr. Kale McCarthy?"_ said Elliot Gray on the other line.

"Call me Axis, please," hissed the singer, "What do ya got?"

"_Get used to it, Kale. Nicknames don't fly in the big leagues."_

Axis froze.

"Uh...what do you mean?"

"_You know exactly what I mean, boy,_" said Elliot Gray, a smile on his face prevalent from the other end, "_We just got the call from LA. You got the job._"

All Elliot Gray would hear from the other end was the chaos of two boyfriends' wild cheering.

* * *

Seattle had beautiful sunrises.

Ever since the reset, Fernsong had bolted from Forrestlake, hitching a ride on a cargo ship to the mainland. Since then he had stayed on the streets of the seaside city, keeping a low profile and using the bundle of cash in his wallet to keep warm and well fed.

It was a perfect Christmas morning. Not a cloud in the sky dared stand in front of the majestic sunrise from the mountains of the inland. Fernsong had prepared for this occasion by sneaking into the Space Needle before opening and waiting on the roof, bundled in a coat to combat the frigid, windy air high above Washington State.

At 6:31, Fernsong heard footsteps behind him.

"You're late."

"You got here early," said the man behind him, whose layers of black cloaks whipped ominously in the westbound winds, "What did you do, snap the neck of the guard to get up here?"

"I have my secrets."

"Then you don't get to tell me that I'm late."

The man took a seat next to him, rummaging out a pocket watch that seemed to glow green within the meticulously etched numbers.

"So what the fuck took you so long?"

"Sensitive bunch," he said as nonchalantly as he could, "Already went through a reset. I had to let ARS grow to prominence again to get them together for long enough."

"Christ," said the man to Fernsong's left, "You could have just hidden the Moonstone."

"I'm sorry," said Fernsong snarkily, "But I don't want twenty times the damage of what your shenanigans called."

"Gonna go there, huh?" said the man, putting the hood of his cloak down to reveal fluffy black hair and a scarred face with purple eyes.

"One officer dead, four people hospitalized after man breaks into woman's apartment in Texas," he said, reciting the headline he had seen the day after the reset from memory.

"Okay…" said the man, rubbing his eyes, "In my defense…"

"There's nothing to defend, Ravenpaw!" snapped Fernsong, letting his frustration show, "You could have picked any other timeline to give him the Moonstone, but you had to pick the one where he was _happily married with a child on the way!_"

"Maybe if you didn't take so goddamn long, I would have more options," he retorted, "And it's Raven_storm_."

"Ravenpaw, Ravenstorm, I don't give a fuck about what your name is, because it's gonna be 'the thick-skulled idiot that ruined the entire operation because he won't talk to his own friends!'"

Ravenstorm threw up his hands, his pocket watch flailing around his wrist. "Fine. I am telling you right now that I'm going to get the defense attorney to plead insanity so he doesn't spend 30 years in prison."

"Thank you," huffed Fernsong, getting to his feet, "Now make it a habit. We can't keep letting her lead us around for long."

Fernsong got up to leave, and Ravenstorm was about to let him until his watch started to glow.

"_Ravenstorm._"

"_What now?_" he hissed.

"_He's dead._"

Ravenstorm did a double take.

"Brazelton?"

"Hit by a train two miles from his house."

His pulse thummed in his wrists.

"Fernsong!" he called, just as the brute was about to go back to the observation deck.

"What now?"

"Brazelton's dead."

Now Fernsong was tensed up.

"When?"

"Just now. The train killed him."

"_Shit,_" cursed the brute, slamming his foot into the roof.

The two stood in silence, pondering their next move.

"Get your Moonstone mess all sorted out. I'll contact Jasper."

"Got a plan for this?" said Ravenstorm, flipping up his hood dramatically.

"You know how Sky works," said Fernsong, a hand on the door back to the elevator, "The moment she finds out about this, we're fucked. And knowing her...she probably already knows."

Fernsong rushed back into the observation deck of the Space Needle as Ravenstorm turned away and with a running start, did a swan dive off of the edge.

Despite the fall being 605 feet high, Ravenstorm did not hit the ground.

* * *

"How do I look?"

Foxleap stared at Jaywhisker, who was currently in a thin Santa cosplay outfit. "You look incredibly stupid."

"Great, let's go," he said, getting into the elevator. Foxleap, who was currently rubbing his eyes in exasperation. The younger boy pressed the button to the ground floor as Foxleap adjusted his offensively garish maroon suit with a rose in his chest pocket and straightened up.

"You look like a furry," said Foxleap randomly as the elevator slowly crawled up to the main floor.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I...fair enough."

"Now keep your dick in your pants. I've got kids to entertain."

Foxleap cringed. "There are..._so many ways_ you could have said that differently."

"Felt appropriate. You need thicker walls by the way-"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

The door opened at the main floor, where people were drinking and chattering in elegant dresses and repulsive wool sweaters. A couple of people, notably the most tipsy, glanced over at Jaywhisker and burst into drunken laughter. Jaywhisker gave a nod as he left Foxleap to do...whatever he found publicly acceptable with Ivypool.

He walked up to the second floor and kicked down the door to Russ' room.

"WHAT'S UP BITCH I'M MOTHERFUCKING SANTA CLAUS!"

Russ turned in his chair and gave the most unimpressed look he possibly could.

"It's two in the afternoon and you're already drunk."

"No," said Jaywhisker with a cheeky grin, "Just wanted to see how you would react."

"You have all the money in the world and you could only get that shitty costume."

"Hey! Language!"

"We're literally brothers. And you're acting like you have a clean mouth."

"Touche," muttered the cosplaying teen, "How's the RC coming?"

As Russ showed Jaywhisker the RC he was holding, The mansion crew were drinking around the kitchen counter. Turkey was cooking in the oven, and champagne was being sipped as the group talked idly.

"What the hell is taking Jayfeather so long?" muttered Honeyfern, "You're literally asking Half Moon to marry you when you basically know the answer."

Breezepelt smirked behind his can of beer. "Didn't someone tell him that the honeymoon is _after _the wedding?"

"That joke hits different when their room is next door," said Berrynose, raising his drink as everyone chuckled in sympathy.

As everyone around the table continued to get buzzed, Lionblaze and Ivypool glanced at each other. With a silent nod and kiss to their respective , they left the table and walked outside to the porch.

"You're tense," said Ivypool, sitting on the bench next to Lionblaze.

"Hell yeah I am," said Lionblaze, throwing up his hands, "Jayfeather's about to get engaged, I'm still trying to sort out what's really happening in this timeline, and…"

He pulled out a thermometer-like object and handed it to Ivypool.

She gasped.

"She's…"

Lionblaze nodded.

"This was supposed to be some big announcement, but with Icecloud...And everything cycling over…"

Ivypool nodded, "Keep this quiet?"

"Yeah."

"They're gonna find out eventually…" said Ivypool, concern in her voice, "I just...Icecloud's crisis is her's and Jack's to go through. She's said that to all of us when she came out as pregnant. But...I guess maybe this isn't a good thing to keep secret. I mean, what's the concern?"

"We failed her, Ivy," said Lionblaze, the guilt seemingly ripping her apart, "Just like Poppyfrost. Now she's going to the hospital for therapy and...going through everything we all swore to protect everyone from. If I just go up and announce something that was the product of consent, what if...what if that hurts her more?"

"Lionblaze," said Ivypool, wrapping her arm around his hunched back, "She's family. Even if this is something she's sensitive about, keeping this a secret will hurt her more than anything else. She'll be happy for you."

Lionblaze shrugged. "I don't know…I mean, some part of me wants to talk to Poppyfrost, but that's singling her out...And her children are coming over…"

"This is a decision you're gonna have to make yourself," said Ivypool, "Because there is no right way to go about this, sadly, but I think making the announcement is the best one."

"How is Icecloud?" said Lionblaze, looking up, "Must be hard since Jack left for work."

Ivypool nodded. Everyone had offered to stay near her in case she had a panic attack in the middle of the night. Since the reset, she and Foxleap had been the most frequent volunteers.

"She's only had one so far," she said quietly, "It's been taking a toll on Foxleap, poor boy. He's only slept a couple times this _week_."

Lionblaze pat Ivypool on the back. "Feel good to be his life support again?"

Ivypool blushed. "More than you can ever imagine."

The two got up as a maroon SUV drove through the snow and pulled into the parking lot. Both grinned widely as Poppyfrost, dressed in a black and red sweater, got out and opened the door for her two children, Molewhisker and Cherryfall, who saw the two of them and ran over.

"Hey guys!" said Ivypool and she and Lionblaze picked them up into tight hugs.

"Presents! Presents! Presents!" called the twins, squealing excitedly as the two set them down.

"Go inside, kids!" called Poppyfrost, "And wash your hands before you eat anything!"

The two scampered inside, leaving Lionblaze, Ivypool and Poppyfrost to look at each other.

It was the first time they had seen each other since she left for Riven after the reset.

"You knew about the kids?" said Poppyfrost, raising an eyebrow.

"Foxleap brought us up to speed," said Ivypool quietly.

The snow was starting to pick up, leaving white sprinkles all throughout the trio's hair.

"Are you...doing alright?" said Lionblaze.

Poppyfrost walked forward and pulled both of them into a hug in response, melting into the conjoined embrace.

"I'm so happy…" whispered Poppyfrost, "We won...my kids are alive…"

Lionblaze and Ivypool shared a grin in response. Jaywhisker had said that Poppyfrost had improved, but this was much better than either of them could have anticipated.

"Come on inside," said the former, "We're cleaning out the champagne before Jayfeather and Half Moon get back."

"Has she said yes yet?" said Poppyfrost, brushing the snow out of her hair with her hands.

Ivypool turned on her hell and looked to the forest, focusing deeply on where Jayfeather hinted the proposal would be.

"Yeah, she said yes," she said with a growing smile, "And they're...having a snowball fight?"

Lionblaze did a double take at that. "I thought Jayfeather hated snowball fights."

"Well," said Poppyfrost before clearing her throat and doing one of the worst faux-British accents ever attempted, "_Perhaps, the fire of their love will cause the snow to melt into the steam of their passion._"

The pair stared a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter, in turn causing Poppyfrost to chuckle at her silliness.

"Where has this side of you been all these years?" said Ivypool, wrapping her arm around Poppyfrost's shoulder and heading inside to the party.

"I have as much of a clue as you do."

* * *

Rust was running out of motion sickness pills.

He already didn't like the fact that he, along with 5,000 others, had been crammed into one of the fleet of once-abandoned navy ships to make a week-long journey. It was made worse with him being unable to sip his water on solid ground and having to share his bedroom with three strangers he didn't know. As valuable of an asset as he was to the Assassins of the Rising Sun, he was certainly much better spending his days behind a desk and doing paperwork.

He bit his lip nervously as he stared at the end of the pharmaceutical bottle blocked only by three small white pills. He hoped they would make landfall soon. He would be hurling chunks overboard if they didn't dock tomorrow.

He dropped a small handful of the pills into the glass of water he was holding and swigged it down. Standing up from the right bottom bunk in his truncated bedroom, he walked into the large hallway, where people were still sleeping in the bedrooms it led to, and all the way onto the deck outside.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around his body and watching his visible exhalations as he walked across the quiet ship, sullied by the morning sun, and into the front wing, where he felt the heat wrap around him again. He walked down three flights of stairs and into a room full of packages, parcels and envelopes.

"Morning, Shiv," said Rust, nodding to the person behind the desk littered with paperwork.

"Hey, Rust," they said, pointing in the direction of a shelf near the back, "You got two letters and a tiny package."

He shrugged and nodded. "Considering we're on a ship in the middle of nowhere, I'll take it."

He walked over to the shelf Shiv had gestured to, glancing at the cubbies sorted by the helmet serial number of everyone onboard. He found his, which thankfully was right in reach, and pulled out the contents, heading to the mess hall as he glanced through the addresses.

The cafeteria was almost empty, save for a couple in the opposite corner. He took a seat near the window and sifted through the mail.

The moment he saw the handwriting of the first envelope, he glanced around for a recycling bin.

Before joining ARS, he and his wife had a massive falling out. Rust had found texts that she had been cheating on him, she countered by claiming sexual assault, and the court stripped him of custody of his two children. ARS was his income. For the past nine months, his wife had been trying to ask forgiveness, saying she felt guilty for lying to him. And to be honest, he wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

But before he tossed the letter, he precariously ripped it open.

It was a Christmas postcard. His wife's smile was tight and forced, but there were his children, grinning and waving.

He smiled, almost shedding a tear as he looked, before putting the card back in the envelope and walking back to his seat, placing it on the table.

The second picture made him grin, though.

Inside the envelope was a beautiful cursive letter and a picture of his parents.

Rust had always been close to his parents, closer than many of the people on the ship, at least. They had been good ones, always taking good care of him, but teaching him to be strong and resilient. They were the only ones that believed him when he said his wife was lying about being assaulted. They were the only ones that knew he was at ARS.

His mother, a long time rhetorician, had written a beautiful letter telling him that they were thinking of him every day, everything was safe at home in Forrestlake and they hoped to see him for Easter. At the end, there was a sentence to check the package, which was apparently the product of a gut instinct.

Rust almost laughed when he opened it. Inside was a store-bought bottle of motion sickness pills.

His parents knew him so well.

He was just about to get up for breakfast when something beeped in his helmet. Someone was calling him.

"This is Rust," he said after clearing his throat.

"Get to the brig," said the voice, "We got vitals."

Rust froze.

"Really?"

"Heartbeat's up. I think today is the day."

Rust hung up, grabbing the mail and stuffing it into his pocket, and raced outside. He saw others hastily going to where he was going as he threw open the door and ran down all eight flights of stairs to the brig.

Well, it wasn't really a brig.

Rust walked into a fluorescent blue room, where soldiers in black were surrounding a computer unit with three monitors. Beyond a one-way mirror were three huge cryogenic chambers, with a single pane of glass fogged up with frost.

"What did you get?" said Rust, sticking his head into the fray.

"Heartbeat picked up just ten minutes ago," said the woman next to him, blood flow shot up to nominal levels. We're calibrating the oxygen detectors now."

"I'll do it," said Rust, locking his helmet into place, "Ping me if something happens."

He walked into the chamber, feeling goosebumps as the temperature plummeted. He walked slowly forward, sneaking behind the chamber and after some flipping of switches and plugging into outlets, got the oxygen chamber up and running. He relaxed, heading back to the control room-

_THUMP._

Rust jumped and whirled around, looking to see what the noise was.

_THUMP._

His heart hammered as he heard it come from the chamber he just connected the sensor to.

_THUMPTHUMPTHUMP._

Then Rust saw it.

A hand thumping against the glass.

Rushing forward, he started opening the chamber, mist hissing out and spilling into the greater containment room.

A beautiful woman with a gray, scarred eye juxtaposing her healthy blue one gasped out of the packing of ice she had been locked in. She had a sports bra on and looked around wildly.

"Steady," said Rust, removing his helmet and holding his hands out, "Breathe. Do you know where you are?"

The woman glanced wildly around before slowly coming to terms with the man in front of her.

"Rust."

Rust smiled. "Welcome back, Sky."

He offered a hand, which Sky took to step out of the chamber of ice. Soon, other soldiers rushed in, handing her towels to dry herself off.

"Where's Garrison?" she said, drying her hair.

"In recovery," said Rust, "Went into hypothermia for an hour yesterday because he was admiring the sunrise."

"And the other one?"

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

The soldiers stopped to turn to the corner, where Inferno had stayed silently, flicking his lighter as he emerged from the shadows. Rust and the soldiers noticeably stepped aside.

"The other one, huh?"

Sky nodded, the two of them staring at each other almost menacingly.

"You're probably the only person in the world who's referred to me as secondhand."

"I'm the only person who can live to tell the tale and you know it."

Inferno shrugged. "Let's just say, I've got a thing for strong mistresses with good looks.

He reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder, letting it slide down until the fingers slipped beneath the back of her bra. Everyone noticeably felt squeamish at the sexual advance.

Everyone except Sky, who seemed to not react at all.

"Where's Brazelton?" she asked Inferno.

"Dead already," said Inferno simply, "Brakes gave out, rolled right in front of a freight train."

"What time?"

"6:38:24."

Now Sky began to smile.

"Get me decent," she said to the soldiers, "We make landfall tomorrow in the Shadowlands."

As the soldiers dispersed, Sky turned to the window behind her and smirked as she watched the sun rise.

RETCON-41 was a success.

And everything was going exactly according to plan.

* * *

Foxleap clinked a glass with his fork, causing the bustle of the crowd in the mansion to die down.

"Hello, everyone," he said with a smirk, "Thank you all for coming."

"What the hell is this, a wedding?" called Breezepelt from the corner.

"Before we get started on dinner, I would just like to take a moment and do a small toast."

The crowd gathered around holding glasses of champagne, save Jayfeather and Half Moon, who were holding glasses of water, and looked up at the boy genius standing on a table.

"Well, let's begin by addressing the elephant in the room," he said, "Jayfeather and Half Moon are officially engaged."

Everyone cheered, Jayfeather leaning down to kiss a blushing Half Moon on the cheek.

"Our good friend Kale McCarthy just landed a deal with a music company in LA."

More cheering. Everyone turned to Axis, who was trying to hide behind Dusty in embarrassment.

"And finally, we've cut a deal with the Forrestlake House to sell the mansion. This place will be converted into a low-income housing project linked to a truma center, after a much-needed christening of the grounds."

Everyone that was not Dusty, Axis or the children laughed at that.

Foxleap's face softened.

"We've been through so much together. More than anyone can ever imagine. The world turned against us two years ago, so we fought back with all the guns, germs and steel that we could possibly muster. Most will never know our story. On the surface, everyone thinks we're the snooty racist rich family on the hill being condescending sons of bitches to anyone who crosses paths with us. But they don't know. Maybe they never will. No one knows that behind these majestic white walls and wide windows…"

He paused.

"We are the strongest family to ever walk this earth. And nothing in the world will ever change that."

He raised his glass with a grin.

"So a toast! To those we've lost and the friends we've made!"

"Cheers!"

"To those we've saved and those who we'll fight for!"

"Cheers!"

"To life!"

"Cheers!"

"To Forrestlake!"

"Cheers!"

Foxleap removed his glasses dramatically.

"To us."

The family came together in celebration, laden with hugging brothers and sisters, kissing girlfriends and boyfriends, and the conjoined catharsis of all the pain they had gone through.

They had certainly not fought their last battles.

But tonight?

They were free at last.

But Dusty was not present for the toast.

After kissing Axis on the cheek, he had downed his glass of champagne, walked upstairs and headed to Coalstrike's room.

The sight was less than pleasant.

Jaywhisker was typing on two computers, his hands flying at lightspeed as he tried to decipher as much information as he could from what he saw, Coalstrike was beating the life out of a punching bag in the corner with natural vigor, Mallowleaf was doing squats with a 75-pound dumbbell and Seashell had her arm around Daffodil, the latter seemingly just finishing sobbing.

"Any luck?" he asked Jaywhisker.

"I've searched the cameras of every place in the goddamn island in the last two days," he rasped, "Nothing. He's disappeared."

Dusty sighed, his mood souring very quickly.

Mallowleaf finished doing her reps before getting to her feet. Seeing Dusty looking down, she walked over and pulled him into a motherly hug.

"We'll find him, Dusty."

Dusty sincerely wished he could believe her.

"I came here to ask something?"

"Do they want us to come down for dinner?"

Dusty shook his head.

"Got a six-pack?"

Mallowleaf was about to show concern about him drinking a can of beer four years below the limit, but it wasn't like she had been stopping him and Jaywhisker, both underage, for hitting the drinks. Besides, the kid was responsible enough.

She turned to a mini-fridge and pulled out a six pack of Coors, setting it down and beginning to hand them out.

"I hate Coors," muttered Coalstrike, who looked the most torn up about the absentee.

"No, you don't," shot back Mallowleaf, "It's either this or a water bottle."

Coalstrike took the Coors, but he wasn't happy about it.

Everyone turned to Dusty after a moment, him being the only one standing, and he remembered just how god awful he was at giving speeches.

"Listen, I…"

He was already lost for words.

"I know these past couple days have been stressful as hell. Searching cameras, making calls, sending out reports…"

He gulped, feeling the pressure of what he was saying against Coalstrike's red-eyed glare.

"But...it's motherfucking Christmas. This is the day we come together. And...I'm gonna be honest, toasting together...making jokes, smiling, caroling...whatever normal people do on Christmas day…"

"That's what Ashtooth would have wanted."

He paused for a moment, waiting for Coalstrike or Daffodil or anyone to object.

Silence.

"We'll find Ashtooth," he said, getting the confidence to look up, "Because we're his family. And I know he's been through some really tough shit, just like the rest of us, but you and I all know he would never leave us behind. He loves us. And we love him. So even if it's today, tomorrow or a week from now, he will come back. We'll find him. But wherever he is, I know that his wish is for us to be happy. Especially on Christmas."

Dusty opened his can and raised it haphazardly.

"This toast isn't just for him. It's for all of us. All that we've been through. The bombing, the shootings, the fight on the mountain...we all got out of it together and we still have the will to die for one another. And if we're being honest...win or lose...making it this far by ourselves is really fucking impressive.

"So I raise my glass. To Mallowleaf, Daffodil, Seashell, Jaywhisker, Coalstrike, Ashtooth and me."

Everyone raised their cans in response.

"To Ambercloud and Jetstorm."

Dusty's hand clenched at his own words.

"And to the future."

"Cheers."

Everyone came together, clinking their cans and taking a big swig before breaking apart again.

Jaywhisker, after the toast, came up and hugged Dusty wholeheartedly and tightly.

"I wish I knew them…" he muttered as Dusty began to shake in grief of his fallen parents.

"They would love you…" he murmured, "And you would love them."

Jaywhisker broke the hug after a minute before preparing to get back to work.

_THUMP._

A loud crash came from downstairs. After it was met with cheers and laughs, everyone except the teenagers lowered their guard and headed downstairs.

Fang had made his grand entrance, giving hugs all around to everyone who had not seen him since the reset. The atmosphere was joyous, and both boys suitably relaxed with the release of tension.

"Wow," said Jaywhisker, "I thought he was dead."

Dusty nodded.

Then he thought of something.

Jaywhisker thought Fang was dead.

But he was okay.

"The hell took you so long, big guy?' said Breezepelt, giving him a slap on the back.

"Made the biggest mistake of my life and decided to sit in the passenger seat."

Everyone laughed at his misfortune.

Except Dusty.

There was only one person who he could think of that Fang would let drive.

And that was…

No way.

No fucking way.

He raced down the stairs, glancing around at the main floor. Axis was entertaining the kids with funny faces, everyone was drinking…

Dusty's heart was beating. In bare feet, his legs led him to the door and to the blizzard outside.

He looked through the snow, his head turning to the car whose headlights just turned off.

"Never again," chuckled the voice of a boy, "Never again will I let him trick him into a death trap-"

He emerged from the snow and stopped.

Dusty turned to meet his gaze.

And he saw him.

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

"Dusty?" said the boy, stepping forward precariously.

Dusty grinned immaculately.

"Hi, Sunfield."

The two friends stared at each other before they raced forward into a euphoric, tearful embrace.

"You're alive! You're alive! You're alive! You're alive! You're alive!" cheered Dusty, openly sobbing in happiness.

"I'm here…" said Sunfield, grinning the widest Dusty had ever seen and trying to resist sobbing poorly.

They held each other like they were the only thing keeping each other alive, and by the time they broke apart, the snow was drenching their hair in white.

Dusty didn't care.

Sunfield was alive.

And for now, for tonight.

All was well.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Lately I've been asking myself a question while writing this epilogue.**

**What's the point?**

**Zadie Smith says writing is a shameful practice. Who are you to write 400 pages? Why should anyone read them. It's not as if anyone's forced to read this story, and for all the people that did, there are twice, maybe three times the people that ignored it. Who are they to witness the garbled sentences I type into my computer when I have the inspiration? Who am I to be worth their time?**

**One person specifically made me think of this question.**

**Their name is Russetmoth2786.**

**Now most may not know her. I personally would say that she is a complete stranger. We've never talked, we've never interacted, and we have no reason to. But in her own fic, "Letters from the Warrior Cats," I've taken to a consistent theme.**

**The concept of Warriors High is dumb and stupid.**

**I've been watching these concepts unfold with an idle ear. And yet, while everything written is well thought out and constructed with fantastic quality, with every predominant character, I see at least one sentence that says how absolutely dumb the concept of them being in a high school is. It is there. Without fail. Do I dare call it a motif?**

**Or is it me playfully ignoring someone telling me clearly that what I am investing my time and energy into is worthless and stupid?**

**I don't really have a good answer in why I write this style. Why I chose Warriors High, of all things, does seem stupid. I could have continued the original stories I was making or actually work on some piece of writing that isn't in the same venn diagram circle with 10 years worth of work.**

**But the thing is, I don't care. Because I love doing this.**

**Writing this fic was a joy. Just grasping a universe I gazed star struck upon for almost a year and being able to tell my own story with the creator's blessing is something I never dreamed of doing. It's fueled me with passion. It's persuaded me to climb from the depths of depression and rise back to write again.**

**So is this fic you just finished stupid?**

**Absolutely.**

**But if I love to write it and people enjoy reading what I put my time into…**

**Who cares?**

* * *

**This fic was a journey of ten months, three hiatuses, many, many emotional roller coasters and growth in mind and spirit. It would be a cruel injustice if I didn't thank everyone who had helped me along this incredible journey.**

**I would like to begin by thanking the members of the Holy Island: Snow, Daggs, Castle and Shadow. It was around 750 days ago that I was inducted into the humble community that would inspire me to not just write, but write with my walls down. After the travesty of my first attempt at a fic (which all of you are banned from reading), They helped me let down my walls and write what I loved to write. Simply put, I would not be here without them. I cannot thank you enough.**

**I'd like to thank everyone in Fallenclan for giving me the final kick in the ass to write this chapter. It was only three months ago when I came into contact with you all, and while the Holy Island will never be replaced, the upstart community of talented writers I thought I would forever be alienated from has dug out another special place in my cold, black, decrepit hard. Lucy, Minty, Phoenix, Virgo and everyone else who was there since the beginning, I'm fairly sure that I would have dropped this story if it weren't for your positive light in my corner of the world.**

**I'd like to give a special thank you to my idols (Yes, there can be idols in FFN), which include Azrakatz, Sunflowersun7 and the incomparable Kalum16. You probably don't know of this fic's existence (And why should you? Meddling with a lowlife angsty teen like me isn't what I would do if I was a good writer.) But if for some god-knows-why reason you decide to give this a glance, just know that I'm grateful beyond words about your existence. Your stellar writing and storytelling has been something that I've long since accepted I cannot replicate. So if you're reading this, just know that your presence in the world of Fanfiction is known and admired by myself, however much that may mean to you.**

**Stepping out of the interwebs for a moment, I'd like to give a tender thank you to Seamus. Odds are you've heard of her from the AN announcing my first official hiatus. Simply put, due to circumstances beyond either of our control, she and her family have moved away to Canada. The separation was mutual, the heartbreak still lingers, but...her presence remains. I have made a lot of poor decisions in writing, some that have cost hours or even days of setting myself up to fail. This extends all the way back to November of 2019, when she first became aware of my writing. For as long as I can remember, she's been by my side when she could, ripping apart my stories from the inside out and challenging myself to be the best I can be. And while I'm confident that this conclusion could have been a lot better, I am proud to say that I had her by my side. Seamus, if you're reading this from the Maple Leaf land, feel free to copy-paste the many compliments and proclamations of love I've showered you with over our time together. And check your mailbox. Closely. *winky face***

**And finally…**

**You.**

**Yes, Jayfeather's Friend. I'm talking to you.**

**Where the fuck do I begin? My life on this website has been strange and chaotic, but the constant thread has been your presence. Your guts of steel, your ruthlessly absurd ideas and your supporting shoulder have been here in the two long years I've spent here. It's honestly crazy that you still tolerate me enough to even give my story a glance, let alone be the fantastic friend that you are, for some reason. I've been through a lot. More than anyone will ever know. And while I never will consider you my closest friend, for several reasons, there are not enough thank yous floating in the aether that I can pull out of my ass. Everything, from inviting me to The Holy Island, to teaching me how to be insane to patting my shoulder as I wrote my first good fight scene to the mutual contests of suffering that we sparred with plot twists and executions galore to me just sitting here at this computer and smiling, knowing that somewhere in the world at some time in the future you will be reading this even after all this time…**

**What kind of acknowledgement can I put into words that does my gratitude for being one of the greatest friends I have ever known justice? What sort of poem can I knit together to make you feel the power of the impact you've had on my life even though the circumstances between us are so vastly different? What can I possibly say to correctly, convincingly tell you that you are an amazing human being?**

**Nothing. Just a jumble of words I'm vomiting onto a computer screen. For everything you've done for me, you get this? It's almost shameful.**

**You deserve the motherfucking world, Jay. Of all the people you invest a portion of your precious time into, you choose some lowlife, dirty bastard like me? I don't deserve you. I deserve absolutely nothing that you've given me. And yet you still decided to give me everything.**

**Thank you, Jay.**

**For everything.**

* * *

**So what next?**

**In what seems like ages ago, I feared that I would never be able to write again.**

**Weeks later?**

**Island of the Fallen.**

**The sequel to this garbage pile of a story, that will end the Warriors High trilogy.**

**There are a lot of unknowns that come with this. Who knows what's coming next? In the end, I hope I can answer the questions you still have from this story, and finish off the monster in what was this universe.**

**My plans are big, long and dark. What I wish to do is push the envelope like never before. I'll probably fail, but now, with the support crew I have that I've never had before, I have a miniscule shot to actually pull this off.**

**Will I?**

**That's for the future to tell.**

**Thank you all for sticking around.**

**Till next time.**

**Best,**

**~Res**

* * *

_**Word Count: 8,000**_


End file.
